Gray on Grey
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: AU. Taking a few cliché what ifs? from Divergent, this is a story about two Abnegation members: one with blonde hair and plain, though striking features, and one with a hooked nose and scars sliced across his back, and how they fall in love while struggling with their divergence.
1. Part 1

_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. So, obviously, this is an AU fanfic. I'm taking all those cliché Divergent fanfiction what ifs: ie, what if Jeanine hadn't been making serums to control the faction members, therefore leading to no war on Abnegation? What if Tris didn't transfer to Dauntless? Will she still fall in love with Tobias? and putting them into a story.**

**Yes. And he's never Four here. Just Tobias.**

**"For a few minutes we kiss, deep in the chasm, with the roar of water all around us. And when we rise, hand in hand, I realize that if we had both chosen differently, we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones." — 'Divergent' page 338**

*** Tobias's point of view ***

My father's life intent is to be a key figure in the political council of the faction system of our city. He has high rank in the council, a reputation that even the other factions know and commend him for.

What a facade. He is a liar, easily able to not fit into the box of black and white of Candor. His life is as gray as the clothes he wears.

Being so prominent has him hiding me away. I am the one blemish on his perfect record. He tries to either make people forget me, to not notice the stain on his white, perfect blank sheet of paper, or make them see me as a burden, someone that drags him down. Useless. Nothing more than a person to excite sympathy for Marcus. The poor man, now a widower, to deal with such a rebellious son? Only pity can be for him. Only indirect looks out of the corners of eyes for me.

But there is something Marcus has noticed. Something I say nothing about, something I know will rile him to no end:

I am a single man.

It's not that simple. It can be boiled down to that, but Marcus knows that his reputation will only go down if his son lives at home his entire life. He knows that I need a wife. And the very thought makes me clench my hands into fists under the kitchen table.

My father's life intent is also to have control over every aspect of my life. After all, I am the only one he does have complete and utter monstrous control over. After Mom died and even before then, I have done everything according to his rules. Anything other than that is rebellious, selfish, disobedient, and repaid on my back with a sharp, unrelenting, merciless, unloving belt.

It will have a complete impact, solidly and indefinitely there, if I get married. Even worse would it be if Marcus chooses someone out for me. Because every time I look at her, I will think of his placing her there. Planning and moving the pawns in his plan. And know that he has found another way to lord over my life. A living reminder for the rest of my life. A permanent scar.

So then, at breakfast, on a reasonably calm morning, for what it's worth, he says, "I've invited a family over tonight."

I nod. Keep my eyes on my toast, the bite in my mouth tasting like nothing. "I'll be upstairs."

"Not this time. You will stay downstairs and answer questions when asked," Marcus says, his tone sharp. But firm.

I look up then. Furrow my eyebrows together. I want to know why for the sudden change, what is the meaning of this. But no questions can be asked without retribution.

I think back to our latest conversations. If they can even be called that. They consist of Marcus telling me things, pointing out what I have done wrong, how he dislikes every last thing I do, and what I should do to better myself. And of me answering meekly back with monosyllables.

My lips form a hard line. Marriage. That was a subject we had discussed.

"What is the family's name?" I ask. Don't meet his eyes. I'm too much of a coward to even meet his eyes, which would burn me on the spot. Too scared to meet his eyes.

"Prior." The word is hard, pressing. He doesn't elaborate, but goes on to his papers. He always has work to do. No complaining about it. That is selfish. But as near to it as he can. But only to me. His colleagues know him as holding his work as the highest priority of his life.

Prior. Andrew Prior is a councilman. His wife, Natalie, works with delivering food to the factionless. They have two children: a son and a daughter. The son had transferred to Erudite. Not one of the Abnegation faction anymore. Both of the same age. Both two years younger than me. That must mean that they are eighteen now.

Eighteen. Two years younger. And one daughter. This daughter, one I can barely describe, can barely pull up a point of her face to think of, to remember, is who my father will have me marry.

My heart hardens. My heart aches. She shouldn't be pulled into a plan of Marcus's for his life to be seen as good and pure to the rest of the city. To take care of me, perhaps bring a little light and honor on his poor excuse for a son. There shouldn't be someone else pulled under his influence. To take his secret to their grave.

Everything Marcus touches turns to dust. Cold, broken, scattered in the wind. Lifeless. Someone else shouldn't be turned to that.

Something strange burns inside me. I realize that whoever I marry, she will know. She will be sucked into a world of horrible knowledge, of my secrets. The marks across my back. The cower I do whenever Marcus walks towards me. The slightest flinch I give at the slightest touch. The sharp intake of breath, the feeling of slicing pain. She will find out me. And even though she will be Abnegation, even though she will nod and respectfully not mention it, she will know. Think about it. Dwell on it. And I can feel the feeling of pity and judgment on the back of my neck a mile away.

I bite my lip. Try to recall her name. Nothing comes to mind. My nails dig into the table.

"Tobias?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't forget. Tonight. Six o'clock."

* * *

><p>Supper is prepared and eaten. It tastes like nothing, flavorless, as all Abnegation food tastes. It is the same food every family in this faction eats. Those whose jobs are distributing the food deliver an amount to each family each month. A prescribed portion per person.<p>

The table is cleared. The house is clean. Not a spot of dust on the ground or table. I sit on the stairs, examining my hands. Clean, dry, red around the knuckles. Not from defending myself, like the knuckles of the Dauntless, who get into school fights. I remember how they would pick them, as a game. They were reckless. And bloody.

Marcus had arrived early, is now showering and getting dressed. He then comes downstairs and examines my clothes, tightens my tie so I feel like I am choking. A grey tie. Not necessarily indulgent to wear. Straightens my collar. Drills me. Always forever drilling me, making sure I have every word and response and physical gesture memorized. I am aiming to please. That is the objective.

He stands now at the door, waiting. His figure is tense, but ready to relax into an easy manner the moment the time calls for it. What he is the most worried about is me screwing up. Somehow that makes me smile a little. To think that I still have control over myself, that I can manage to do something against his will, is freeing. Like being able to breathe.

I can hear the footsteps coming up the cold grey path leading to the door. My ears have become accustomed to picking up the slightest of sounds. Hiding away in my room has taught me to be stealthy when it comes to Marcus arriving at my door.

Marcus turns to me. "Remember. Stand up straight. Say hello. Nothing more."

I nod and stand up. My hands feel sweaty inside. I don't know why. Perhaps because I am being put on display for my role. Screw it up, and I will no doubt feel the sting of my punishment once the guests are gone.

So it's best not to fail.

A knock on the door. Marcus gets it, opening it with an easy smile. He bows his head, smiling slightly. The show has begun.

The Priors enter the house. Natalie and Andrew smile, bow their heads towards Marcus. Present their daughter, making their attention not on themselves but on their child. Their last sole Abnegation child, who chose a life of conformity in grey and selflessness. A life Marcus wants for a wife of mine.

The girl is introduced as Beatrice. Her hair is yellow, the color of the silk of corn, and long. Cut at the exact length of all the Abnegation women's hair. Her body is slim, thin and birdlike beneath heavy, sagging Abnegation clothes. Her height is short, her cheekbones heightened.

The Abnegation keep their eyes downward, away from catching glimpses of indulgent tastes. But her eyes are bright, alive and alert, eating up the two people before her.

Including me.

"Tobias, this is Beatrice," Marcus says. His eyes meet mine. They're hard. Stonelike.

I bow my head in respect, though I have none for her. She has done nothing to deserve any. "Beatrice."

"Tobias," she says. I wince instinctively. The name feels like a curse, like a pinch every time it's said. The only one who ever says that is Marcus. To hear it, even from an even female voice, still hurts like the slap of a hand.

Marcus invites us all to sit down in the living room. The same furniture dots the rooms of the Priors' house. All is familiar and duplicate in everyone's eyes as we politely sit down. I sit on the far edge of the couch, ready to get up as soon as physically possible. My fingernails, worn and short, tap against my knee. A sign of nervousness. My eyes never leave Marcus. Except to stray away to glance at Beatrice. How she sits on the edge as well, glancing at her hands. Not out of selflessness. No. To avoid us. A strange trait for an Abnegation member.

Marcus and Andrew fill the air with polite conversation, mostly about work and the factions. The council and the slightly bumpy road the Erudite information is taking on. I raise an eyebrow but don't say a word. No talking unless being asked a question. Even then, the words on my lips are rehearsed.

My eyes keep straying to Beatrice. Her hair is bright, strange to see in an Abnegation household. And her eyes. They're big on her plain face. Inquisitive. Seeing everything. Indulging in the sights around her. Another sign of being not wholly Abnegation.

Not wholly Abnegation. That is impossible. Each Abnegation member knows the morals, the habits of the faction they live in. After sixteen, complete and utter devotion must be given to this lifestyle. And most Abnegation members, who are rarely transfers of other factions, who cannot bear the thought of laying everything down for a life of putting others first and even the slightest selfish needs second, fulfill the role of the perfect representation of their faction.

But she is eighteen. She should be totally Abnegation now. Born and bred, as they would say. But not so.

She catches my eye and holds my gaze. Something burns inside me. Not in an angry, slowly smoldering kind of way. No. There is no sign of her being scared of me, of the boy locked away from sight, being the rebellious, hot-tempered son of Marcus that he is. There is no sign of any raw emotion from her. Just an almost authoritative blankness. A carefully constructed face. Not one of the Abnegation.

It is strange, to see someone in shades of grey like that. Quite literally. And I know that I should keep my eyes away from her, drag them to the conversation between her parents and Marcus instead, but they can't help but be drawn to her.

"Tobias," I hear Natalie Prior say. I quickly put my eyes on her, knowing Marcus is watching to make sure I'm paying attention.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Suppose you and Beatrice could go on a walk. This talk must bore you," Natalie says.

I raise an eyebrow. Which is the wrong thing to do. But not something I retract.

Beatrice stands up quickly, too eagerly. "Tobias, let's go," she says. She offers her hand. I frown. She notices and withdraws the hand, letting it hang at her side. She nods and we quickly exit the room. I can feel Marcus's eyes on the back of my neck.

The door opens to reveal cool air. Not quite winter, not quite fall. I shiver, despite the thick gray jacket that hangs off my shoulders. My body is skinny, never truly having gotten thicker in muscles because of puberty. In Abnegation, I have never truly challenged myself to strengthen myself. Sometimes, I wonder, if I had joined another faction, such as Dauntless, which I know is my other faction, the other half to the result of my aptitude test, if I would have entertained the idea of building muscles, of strengthening my body. The answer is obvious. You must grow stronger to survive in Dauntless. But all you need to be in Abnegation is a quiet, self-sacrificing comformat. No testing of skills, no testing of mind or body. Just community service.

Beatrice hisses through her teeth as she walks down the steps. The cold wraps around her thin body like a blanket. Even then, she tugs closer her too-large grey jacket.

"When do you think the Abnegation will take into account the average size of each age and provide clothing that actually fits, according to each one's body type and height?" I ask suddenly, not sure exactly where the words have come from.

Beatrice stares at me. She knows as well as I do that all the clothing is not made particularly for each one's size. It's from the grey rationing. It doesn't matter if it fits you or not. You take it, because you do not want someone else to have one that doesn't fit them.

"Never," Beatrice says. "The factions changing even the slightest detail? They can't. They can't change." Her tone surprises me. It's defiant, if a little angry.

"What if they could?" I ask. I fall into step with her. We walk down the grey sidewalk, the concrete the same exact color as the houses. Everything here is monotonous in tone and breath.

"Change?" Beatrice shakes her head. "How so? Do you expect the Abnegation to become less selfish? The Dauntless not so . . . reckless? Candor not so straightforward?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of what if Dauntless wanted to know more knowledge? If the Candor were kinder, the Erudite wanted to be honest and not so manipulative, if the Abnegation could be brave and strong, would that be such a bad thing?" I ask. Our feet are synchronized. Keeping pace with each other.

Beatrice is quiet for a moment. "That sounds very traitorous, Tobias."

The name still hits me like a slap, but I try to hide the wince. "But is it a bad thing to want?"

Beatrice stops walking. Looks up at me and stares at me for a moment. Her eyes are fixated on me, a hardness to them. Something that has formed over years and years. Certainly not the look of a contented faction member. "Is this why you were so quiet in the living room?" she asks.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"My parents were talking to Marcus, and you looked like you wanted to say something, but you didn't." She hesitates for a moment. "Is this the reason that you don't attend social events with Marcus? Because you talk of turning the factions on their heads?"

If only it were that simple. "No. Not even the slightest." Imagine if Marcus knew that I thought such of the factions, how I dislike the way the entire government runs our lives, wanting us stuck inside grey, hard boxes. Imagine the stripes on my back then.

She frowns, but doesn't prod.

I wonder if Marcus will approve of her. Her thoughts are provoking, interesting, and surprising to see in a member of Abnegation. Like me. And he wants complete devotion to Abnegation from her. So then she won't tell anyone about the scars on my back, of my entire family situation.

I remember something. When I had received my aptitude test result, I knew that I had received two differing results. One was Abnegation. And I know that the other was Dauntless. But I wasn't like the Dauntless. I wasn't brave enough to rip myself from my father and his control. It's a decision that haunts me my every moment, awake or not, in life or sleep.

I remember how her hand had reached out for me. How you're not supposed to do that in Abnegation. I grab her hand then. She looks startled. Physical contact like this between two unwedded people is practically illegal.

"Please," I say. "Be a complacent Abnegation. Be the most selfless woman you've ever met. At least around Marcus. Be perfect in front of him. But don't change. Not for me. Please." I squeeze her hand, hope that my point comes across. That she can't act like this in front of Marcus. That he won't have it, won't stand it.

But it's the first taste of fresh air I have tasted in twenty years.

*** Beatrice's point of view ***

My parents have always been good to me. To think anything else is a lie. Of course they have been pressuring with rules and chastising me, but that is for my good. To make me a true Abnegation member. Someone that I'm not.

I think my mother sees that I am not truly selfless, that my efforts, while aspiring to be good, are not as they should be. Her sad smile is true to this. Perhaps she knows that I am Divergent. Someone, a thing, that is hated and feared throughout the factions. She isn't supposed to know, but so far nothing has happened because she does know. And somehow I don't know why Tori, my aptitude test instructor, had warned me so fervently against anyone knowing of it.

So far nothing has happened. But that doesn't mean I'm not on edge at all hours of the day. That I'm not scared that this soft, selfless life I now lead can't be taken away by a sweep of someone's hand.

One of the reasons I joined Abnegation was because I wanted to be with my family. That was my main drive, one of the only good reasons besides the fact that I thought that I could be good enough to be Abnegation. But that blow hit me, slowly, then hot and fast, when Caleb chose Erudite. He chose knowledge and power over his entire family.

I felt betrayed. Angry. And somehow, my own loyalty to my faction lessened. It wasn't given to another faction at all. It just subsided, boiling in anger that has mounted inside me for two years. He escaped. He made a choice, one that has changed everything.

I don't know if I am mad at him, or if I am mad at myself. Because now I realize that Abnegation is not my home. It is where I live, where the people don't do anything except smile and help you. But it's not home. It's not living, it's not breathing. It's a containment. And I want out.

My parents don't want me to be alone. So they take up the invitation to meet Marcus Eaton and his son at their house. I wonder if they fully know why his son is always hidden away in his house. I want to know the reason. I'm curious in that way. In the way of the Erudite.

A part of me doesn't want to be married to some Abnegation boy. To marry a man and live a life just like my parents. Sure, they love each other. But there is nothing in their marriage that has me wanting it more than anything. They live together, are family, but they don't seem happy.

Happiness is overrated in some factions. In mine, it is selfish.

He is . . . different, though. Not what I was expecting. I was expecting the boy to be like one of pure rebellion against his faction, one like the Dauntless. There is none of that. He is calm, cool, collected, and far more thoughtful than any Abnegation should be. Ever.

That is why I talked to him. Because he is not polite at all like Robert. He is questioning the system, which is everything. And I love it.

He says nothing when we return to Marcus's house, though. Not a single word more. Our parents have finished talking, and they bow their heads and then we exit the house, taking the one-minute trip home.

"How was your walk with Tobias, Beatrice?" my mother asks, her voice polite and patient, inquiring just a little. Not too much.

I am silent for a moment. "It was fine."

"That is good," Mother says.

"How do you like him?" Father asks.

I am quiet a moment more. I have questions for them, despite what they have told me. That they want to make sure the boy I marry is good and faction-abiding. The thought of me marrying the son of one of the councilman sounds like a good thought to have.

Perhaps it is because they know that I don't fit in well with many in the Abnegation faction sector, or even with any of the other faction members I mill around with when I help my mother, traveling about the city and meeting new people. They fascinate me, but I don't fit in well with them. Which is good. Imagine if I made a friend outside Abnegation. It's unheard of.

I was a little disturbed by the way that he wanted me to keep quiet about the opinions I had so easily made known to him. Now, I understand. I'm showing my Divergence.

That keeps my heart pounding. He knows. He must know about my deadly situation. He warned me. Didn't report me back to his father. Or maybe he will. But maybe he won't. He is Abnegation, after all. We don't tattletale, unless it is for the best. Which this, in his mind, might be.

"He is fine," I say in reply. I need more time before I can say anything more.

* * *

><p>I see Tobias Eaton out of his house at a social event for the first time in eighteen years. Notwithstanding the Choosing Ceremony every year. I think it is because of me. It's the Abnegation way of dating. Courting, which is seeing each other in a situation with other people. I suppose it's to keep us from tearing at each other. As if that could ever happen.<p>

But he's there when I follow my mother to the warehouses where the Amity drop the food off from the farms. She leaves me, smiling patiently, to do her duties, and I am startled out of my skin when he walks up to me. He's so much taller than me, having to tilt his head just to fully see my face.

"Good morning, Beatrice," he says. "Which warehouse are you going to?"

I follow him to warehouse number 4. We spend the afternoon together unpacking the large pallets full of fresh food and repacking them into smaller boxes to take to the soup kitchens and the canneries that the factionless operate. We don't talk much. I work hard. The sound of ripping tape comes from his direction.

Finally, I ask, my curiosity needing to be quenched, "Why are you here?"

Tobias is silent.

"You never show up to anything. I'd almost call that selfish." This is meant to be a joke. But the Abnegation never joke. That is why I earn several scolding faces from the people around me.

I shut my mouth and continue with my unpacking.

When we leave, he follows me to the large doors that allow the trucks in and out. He holds one open for me, his arm against the door, and he says, "I don't come out because Marcus doesn't want me to."

"Marcus?" I say, startled. He calls his father by his first name?

"My father," he says quickly, not missing a beat. Not looking like he had just messed up.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because," he says.

"That's not an answer," I say.

"A complete sentence? Is that what you want?" Tobias says. Lines furrow along his forehead. He stares off into the distance, past my shoulder. Can't meet my eye.

Finally, he says, "Marcus doesn't let me out of the house much. I'm his horrible, rebellious son, remember?"

The way he talks of his father is with contempt. I could never imagine talking about my parents with contempt.

I swallow. "No. You're not. You're not horrible."

I turn and leave, my feet packing against the road. The door closes behind me. Then large feet, covered in worn grey shoes, match my speed and carry down the road with me, going through our monotonous neighborhood until we reach my house.

"It was nice seeing you, Beatrice," he says.

I hiss. My name seems so Abnegation to me. Not at all fitting my personality.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I don't like my name," I say. "It doesn't fit me."

He studies me for a moment. I feel like bending under his piercing, dark eyes. But I don't move. I keep my chin up. He's still Abnegation. But nothing like them at all.

He finally says, "I feel the same. About mine. It's mine, but I hate it. I hate what it means to me." He bows his head respectfully and leaves me at the door, not bothering to wait to see my parents. An error on his part. But I'm left pondering. Pondering why he hates his name. Avoids contact with other people. Speaks little, and when he does, in strange sentences.

He makes me wonder after him like I never have after anyone. I want to speak to him more, find out more about him. He is far too mysterious for Abnegation. And maybe that's why I'm interested in him. Because he must be like me. Divergent.

**I originally posted this as a long, 30,000 + word one chapter, and then realized that was bad. So I'm splitting it. :)**


	2. Part 2

**_Soli Deo gloria_**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. Part 2.**

*** Tobias's point of view ***

We spend more time together, which is altogether surprising. Having had no friends to speak of my entire life, having lived with no one but my parents and then Marcus, it's strange to talk to someone who doesn't look at me with pity. Who doesn't seem to think that me being Marcus's son makes me an object of weakness or rebellion. She sees through every lie told to her, and for that, I am surprisingly grateful.

But she also sees through me. Sees that I lie far too easily. I can tell by the way she purses her lips, by the appraising look she gets on her face. Reminds me a little of Candor. But she is nothing like Candor. She isn't honest with me, or even with her parents. She withholds. I don't know if that is the trait instilled in her by Abnegation, to hold everything in and be selfless, not letting on about your own problems.

Finally, she tells me that her brother transferred to Erudite. Information I already know. But the way she felt it was in anger, like he had betrayed her.

And, after many, many weeks filled with monotonous work (for Marcus sees that I am seeing Beatrice more and more often, and people are wondering. So he sends me out into the public to work. This earns me more stares, more poring eyes, but more time to see her) with her, she tells me her biggest secret. One that barely escapes her, one that makes me ponder and realize that it fits with her perfectly, and makes me ponder what if I had done the same:

She had wanted to transfer to Dauntless.

"Strange for a Stiff," I say.

"I know," she says. "But I can't help it."

"But you chose Abnegation," I say. We're walking down one of the many roads from the warehouses, the weather cold and blistering. The winds sweep in snowflakes that fall on our too-large jackets, which we joke about: they haven't been replaced. Which is strange. Abnegation don't joke. And yet the two of us do. "Why did you do that? Were you truly selfless enough to put away your own desires and stay with your parents? Or was there another motive, Beatrice?"

"You make me sound so much better than I am," she says. She looks paler in the cold. Smaller, too, hidden away in the swathing of clothing all around her. And I want nothing more than to hold her as tightly as I can in my arms. Just once. She shakes her head, her hair shaking out over her shoulders. "No. I am not good enough for Abnegation."

"Then why'd you choose it?" I ask, tilting my head so I can see her face.

She stops walking. Around us, on the edges of the road, are people. Grey-clothed people walking home from their jobs. Kids in all different colors hurrying to their different parts of the city from school. Black and white clothed people, white people, black people, yellow haired and brown haired and black haired, and the two of us stand there, still, amongst all the calm chaos around us. A silent moment, shared only between the two of us. I lean closer.

"Because it's the safest faction," she whispers.

"Why do you want to be safe?" I ask.

"Who doesn't want to be safe?" she says, a little annoyed.

"Every faction is safe. Except maybe Dauntless," I say. But I don't think she means that it has to do with her health. Perhaps something else.

Her mouth snaps shut. She nods. Nothing more is said.

*** Beatrice's point of view ***

One of the Abnegation teens that has stayed, even through the Choosing Ceremony, is a girl by the name of Susan Black. She has blonde hair that's always pulled back. She's taller, but even more timid than me. Even so, she had always captured the eyes of my brother. I had always thought that she and Caleb would someday get married and move into their own identical grey house. Maybe Caleb and I would have lived next to each other.

If I had been crushed by his decision, she must be devastated.

I ask her, as we walk through the snow covered streets towards the warehouses, if she knew that Caleb was going to go to Erudite. The jacket I wear I wrap my arms around. It seems no matter what, I am far too scrawny. I cannot retain heat. But words of selfishness are shut in my throat. Even this one question, to bring up Caleb like he had died, is too much. Too much. And when even that makes me feel so guilty, makes me berate myself once more for not choosing a different faction, I know that I cannot last longer here. I am slowly suffocating.

"He did not say anything to me at all." I look up, startled, at Susan. Her eyes look at the ground. Her lip trembles.

To have her even dignify my question with an answer is startling. But then she smiles faintly at me and we continue walking.

Susan and I are as the best of friends as we can be in Abnegation. But what we have can barely be called friendship. She has told me this answer as it is selfish not to. I train my eyes to the ground, just as Susan does. Just as the good Abnegation do.

* * *

><p>The jobs of the city are spread out for all the factions. Amity grows the food and has caretakers in hospitals. The Erudite are those of words. Doctors, teachers, scientists. Words. It would explain Caleb. He had a thirst for knowledge which is only for those of the Erudite. The Dauntless protect us; the Candor keep justice in our courts. Abnegation keeps the council, the government of the city. This leaves many jobs not available to the Abnegation, which leads to much volunteering. So after breakfast each day, after I clean the house with my mother and father, I leave with my mother to go to one of the warehouses. Every day the same.<p>

But I can only handle so much of being around people who are so naturally good at heart before I can barely breathe; I have to run. I want to run as far away as I can.

And sometimes I do. Sometimes I tell Susan that I am going to see my mother at a different warehouse and then I run, skirting around the houses and buildings outside the Abnegation sector of the city. Away from where anyone would recognize me as anyone else but a Stiff. Sometimes being so anonymous does me a world of good.

I go to see the trains of the Dauntless, imagine the feeling of wind. I watch the cars passing in to the warehouses from Amity. I imagine the opinions, all free and true and not swallowed down to be polite being throw across black and white rooms in the Merciless Mart. I don't pass by the Erudite. I no longer go to school, and I cannot imagine being so near my brother when I harbor a bad grudge towards him. No. I cannot go to him, or I will act on this grudge, and somehow, in some way, get pushed out of my faction. I am not sure if Abnegation kicks out anyone, but I'm willing to bend rules to the limit until they break in my hands.

The wind blows and the snow swirls. A flake lands on my fingers; I watch it a moment before it melts, completely gone excepting the drop of water left on my fingers. Cold and gone.

"Are you all right?" I spin on my heels, caught. An apology is in my mouth, my head already bent, but I recognize that voice. And only because it is him do I left my head back up.

"We're in Erudite," I say, the words spilling out of my mouth. Then I snap my lips shut and realize that I am right. Despite my anger against my brother, my legs have carried me to my blood, my family. To outside the Erudite Headquarters.

"I know," Tobias says. His eyes glance over the metallic Bean that had a soft blanket of snow over it. He looks back at me. "I saw you running away. What are you doing here?"

A moment of silence passes between us. The snow falls. Curious, strange looks from the Erudite fall on us as well. Nobody speaks to us.

"Breathing," I say.

He breathes deeply and nods. "Abnegation is confinement," he whispers.

I stand shocked. But the words have reached no one's ears but mine. No Erudite stop. None.

"It is," I say. "And that's why I have to be free." My body has the build of a bird; I wish I could sprout wings and be able to fly far, far away.

He walks until he is only a couple steps from me. His breath is frozen in the cold. His eyes dart to my hand, almost as if he wants to hold it. I stand stock still. Motionless.

He battles inside his head and then grabs my hand.

"Let's run, then," he says.

He doesn't need to tell me twice; for someone to give me permission, shoving it into my lap, no matter how worthless it is against our faction rules, is the quickest thing to set me off. My lips press together; I smile.

And then I run.

I have no plan. I don't know where I'm going. But I hear feet keeping pace with mine. His legs are longer, more lithe than my own. But I am sprinting, about to take off. To where? I don't know. But the closest place we're coming on to is an entrance way to the Dauntless trains. Cars roll by, sending sparks through the air. They pass away and I catch the sight of another coming around. Suddenly I run to the tracks, ready on the balls of my feet. My body is faster than my mind, but I catch up quick.

I want to jump onto the train. Just like the Dauntless.

"What are you doing?" Tobias says loudly as the sound of the train's oncoming bell rings through the air.

"I'm escaping," I say. The train is almost here; I can feel the vibrations under my feet, the fierce energy carrying it on. It flows through me, up and to the top, and there is no doubt in my mind about this. I am jumping, whether Tobias wants to come with me or not. This is only a matter of a choice. Will he turn back or join me?

I catch his eye to see his answer. His eyes are hardened as well as his skin, taut against his bones. His body moves in the motion of heavily breathing. "Then I'm coming with you," he says just as the first car swiftly passes us, causing my bun's stray hairs to dance in the air.

He knows full well what trouble we might get into if anyone sees us. No. The imminent trouble that is so near I can practically feel it. Like I can feel the wind as it moves with the cars. But it's his decision. His choice.

I realize I want him to come with me as I say under my breath, "Get ready," and then my feet pick up speed. The moment my feet leave the ground I remember the hold my skirt has across my legs, catching them like a bird trying to fly past a tent cover. My free hand reaches forward; the other holds his tighter as my body rolls across the floor of the nearly empty, dirty car.

Nearly empty. When the ache of the impact is not nearly so noticeable, other things I focus on. The dark clothes, tight over the bodies in the shadows. The clear looks of puzzlement, of anger. The outreached hands, not in welcome, in tenderness, like that of the Abnegation, but hard. Cutting. Defensive. Ready to reduce my body into broken pieces.

"Dauntless," I say.

One steps forward: a boy my age with wild blonde hair and a tattoo across his arm. I don't move when I see a gun in his hand; the big, bulky kind.

"What is an Abnegation doing in Dauntless?" he asks. His eyes go from me to Tobias, whose hand is still grasped in mine. "And what displays of affection. They're lessening their laws against public physical contact? How?"

"They didn't rewrite the laws, Will," a girl says. She stands forward, her gun at her side. Her skin is dark and her hair almost past her chin. A piercing sticks out of her nose. "That's unheard of. No. We've got a couple of misfits with us."

"How, Christina?" The boy, Will, says, turning to Christina. "Abnegation don't do rule-bending."

"They can't be from another faction other than Abnegation," Christina says. Her voice is a hiss, trying to conceal the conversation from other ears, including the other Dauntless that flank them. But her words remind me of the Candor; releasing all she thinks and pouring it through without a filter. I frown. She should have stopped imitating her old faction, especially because of her years in Dauntless. "The factionless—"

"—always wear colors from every faction. I know, Christina," Will says.

Christina wears a grim smile at him. "I know, too, Will." Her smile fades as her eyes stare at us, unabashed. "What are your names?"

My eyes flash to the gun. It stays trained on the floor.

"We're not going to shoot you for trespassing on Dauntless transportation," Christina says, almost sounding helpful. "Come on. Your name."

"What does it matter to you?" Tobias says, his voice steady and serious, breaking through the tension.

"Answer us, Stiff," a boy says, so tall and hair so blond he's almost handsome. But the sneer smeared across his face causes his features to lose any trace of beauty. His gun points at Tobias. I stiffen. Tobias doesn't move for a moment, but then he stands, his back perfectly straight; I realize he is always hunched, like he's been beaten down.

"Or else?" Tobias asks. An eyebrow raises on his face. I almost laugh.

"Don't test me, Stiff—" the boy says, his gun pointing up.

Christina sighs. "Come on, Peter. We're not coming with bodies."

"Names," Peter says through his teeth.

"Beatrice," I say quickly, before Tobias can open his mouth.

"'Beatrice?' What kind of Abnegation name is that?" Peter sneers.

"Mine," I scowl.

"Fine. I don't care. What's his?" He wiggles his gun to make his point.

No words from me. My name is mine to pass on to whoever I want to hear it. But to give out Tobias's name seems . . . traitorous. I won't do it. My legs, the pain less than it was when I first came onto the train, strengthen and ache as I stand next to Tobias.

"You shouldn't be here," Will says. "Factions interacting outside of school, visiting days, and the Choosing Ceremony is hardly tolerated. Especially on faction, not neutral, property."

"What are we going to do with them, Will?" a girl asks.

Will's jaw hardens for a moment. "Take them back to Abnegation."

"We're supposed to go to the fence; it's our shift to guard," a girl with dark red hair points out. "Eric won't like this."

"Eric doesn't like a lot of things," Christina says, "and I can hardly care less." Her body shifts, though her feet keep planted on the dirty wood planks. "Should we wait until the train passes back around the city or should we tell train command to switch to another track and make us retrace our footsteps? Will? Uriah?"

"I'll call Train Control," Peter says. His hand pulls out a fancy communicator.

"Shut up. I wasn't asking you, Peter," Christina says. Her eyes go back to Will. "Let's tick Eric off. Let's wait until it passes around again."

"Fine," Will says. He nods to us. "We'll get to see some Stiffs jump out of a train."

Christina laughs. "That'll be a sight to see."

Jumping out of the train. I had forgotten about that. But that is a part of the Dauntless. Boarding the train recklessly makes them leave it just as so. But the thought of the speed of the train rails through my mind, and my grip on Tobias's hand inadvertently tightens.

We watch the factions pass by. The fields, the broken land, the dried up swamps and the broken buildings that the factionless wander in and out of. A sad existence. Some watch the train. They are grey and blue and black and white and yellow. So many shades of so many different colors. All labelled and marked so that everyone knows who they are. Just as the rest of us are marked.

Part of me feels bad for them. The Abnegation part. The part that hurts when I hand them packages of food from the warehouses, see their dismal faces as they turn to face their lonely lives of picking up pieces and cleaning up after those who didn't fail. Those who worked for their positions. Though, if the Amity even call their initiation hard. It is hard to fall Amity. Those who join Amity the next year are almost always in the Amity chairs at the Choosing Ceremony the following year.

It is hard to fail Abnegation training, too. Suddenly I wonder about the initiation processes of Candor, Dauntless, and Erudite. I don't dare ask any of the members here. I will never ask Caleb.

The Abnegation section of the city is all in shades of gray, ranging from dark to light and everywhere inbetween. The meeting house is a large structure that lacks any adornments that other factions might have. Completely plain. I see it coming up in the empty doorway of the car and the Dauntless all stand up. Their feet are together, their legs ready to be spring.

"Get up," Will says. He seems to be the leader of this particular group, though Peter grumbles. "Get ready to jump."

Tobias and I had slumped against the car as the others had in waiting for the building to come up. So we get up; my hand around his is tight, sweaty, swallowed in his. Neither of us have let go. It would seem almost traitorous to not band together against the Dauntless. This way, we know we can hold on to each other. We're not on our own.

"All right. When I say 'jump', just leap out and aim for the grass. Don't fall on your head but try for your legs or your thighs," Christina says over the roar of the train. Suddenly Peter and a few more Dauntless launch themselves out of the train. I stand still, the wind whistling in my ears, in amazement. All my life I have seen the Dauntless fly out of trains, but never from this side of the train.

I wonder if I had transferred to Dauntless would I now have been so used to train jumping that I wouldn't feel this tension in my legs, this ache in my hand, or this thundering in my heart.

"Jump!" Christina shouts.

Tobias and I trip a little with our joined hands, which fly apart to catch ourselves as we sprawl across the grass that lines the tracks. I push myself up out of the snow and see I've scratched my knee up on something. Blood trickles into my skirt. I push it up, despite showing so much skin in Abnegation, and shove a snowball against it. It stings, but the rush of cold is far better than the rush of pain.

"Are you all right?" Tobias asks. Abnegation are watching in disbelief before hurrying on their way to avoid playing their selfish thoughts of what has happened to me in their minds and coming up to ask if I need any help.

I refuse any and say, "I'll bandage it when I get home." But a bandage is offered and wrapped against my will around my knee. Tobias helps me stand up and Christina says, "We're going to the Abnegation meeting house. Then we're leaving on the next train out of here."

The Abnegation say nothing. One nods, though. Christina and Will lead our group to the meeting house, up the steps to the plain doors.

"What are our parents going to say?" I mutter under my breath to no one in particular. Tobias doesn't say anything but we're both thinking it. My parents are going to be so full of disappointment, my father especially. Neither raised me in this way. Both know that it is hard for me to adhere to the rules of Abnegation.

My eyes are kept captured by the faces we pass by. Many quickly pass away. Some linger, though, despite themselves. Everyone has some curiosity. Apparently, even the Abnegation. But they hurry away through the doors that dot the walls of the innards of the meeting house. The Dauntless surround us like we're prisoners as Will calls for us to halt in the middle of the foyer. He speaks with a neighbor of mine at the front desk. Immediately Marcus Eaton and my father walk out of a meeting. The meeting, I learn, was just finishing. Or else they would not have left so many people at their jobs to attend to us. The people over their children. I know that. So does Tobias, though he no longer holds my hand as they draw closer. I can hear his rapid breathing and wonder what he thinks of the disappointment we have handed to our fathers.

"Beatrice, Tobias, what are you doing here?" my father asks, sounding concerned.

"Why are you here?" Marcus asks, surprised, but serious as he takes in the guests surrounding us like a human shield.

"These two came onto our train car on our way to our guarding shift. It was decided we would escort them here and find Abnegation members to attend them," Will says. His gun is not lifted so high. I catch his face under his shaggy hair; he looks almost concerned under his indifferent mask.

"We thank you for your service. You may return to your jobs," Marcus says. No smile is on his face, but no anger is there either. However, his voice is tight as the Dauntless leave, running and slamming the door behind them, "Miscreants."

"It is not good to describe the Dauntless like that, Marcus, when they have just helped us," my father reprimands.

"I was not describing the Dauntless, Andrew, but our children," Marcus says. His teeth grind. He turns to Tobias. "What were you doing in a Dauntless train? What were you two doing out when it is freezing cold and you're supposed to be at your jobs at the warehouses?"

"Marcus, let us discuss this and properly teach our children when we are in the privacy of our own homes. It is not good to burden the public with our family troubles," my father says. His voice almost softens, but with a tired note. Disappointment. I have disappointed him. I'm not surprised. I was expecting it. "Beatrice, we're going home. I shall ask them to hold the next meeting until after lunch."

Asking the staff here to reschedule a meeting is selfish. To ask something of people on account of my disobedience, to make my run away so well know, is punishment not only on me but also on my father. And that is more punishment on me, to have him ruined because of me. So I hang my neck, truly sorry, as he leads me out of the meeting house and into the snow patched streets. Behind us are Marcus and Tobias, Marcus telling Tobias to keep pace. No dilly dallying. That is selfish.

Everything we do can be marked. Everything is labelled, named, categorized. And many of the things we do are labelled selfish.

Angry as I am at myself, I am also surprised by the actions of Tobias. No immediate apology to his father or mine. No explanation, though he can be only respecting the wishes of our fathers. But nothing. No head hanging in shame like mine. But a head held high in what can only be called Dauntless arrogance. Or confidence. Or no fear. But my father would call it arrogance.

Our houses come up, completely indistinguishable from each other other than the number stamped on the mailboxes. The houses at Dauntless can't be this duplicate. No. I imagine how the colors and personalities of the whooping Dauntless must be stamped across their living spaces. How freeing and unique would that be? Suddenly I am not sorry at all. Suddenly I hear wind whistling in my ear and feel rushing air under my feet, my stomach dropping, my arms flailing out. Like wings. Like I could fly. Be free. Like a bird.

I am not sorry at all.

At the space between our houses, on the grey sidewalk, Marcus says, "Let us walk you up to your door."

"Thank you for your help, Marcus. Do not worry about us," my father says. His fingers are tight on my arm as he turns me to follow him up the stairs. "Come along, Beatrice."

His hand is a cage. I am trapped. Retrieved by a net and returned to my cell.

But I have to escape. I must.


	3. Part 3

**_Soli Deo gloria_**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. WARNING: BEWARE OF THE EPIC FLUFF.**

*** Tobias's point of view ***

He acts like I expected him to. To not do more than say a few words in public; it's behind closed doors when he lands a cut against my jaw, making my head ache and my legs give out. I cup a hand to my cheek. The only comfort I can get is from myself, and even that is futile. My hand will soon suffer as well.

"What were you doing, Tobias?" It would be easier if he yelled. But his voice is a snake's, hissing and deadly. No neighbors can hear his hisses, but they terrorize my nightmares at night. "Going to the Dauntless? Jumping on their trains? Tell me, boy! Stand—up!"

To only knock me down again. I have to do this twice before he gives me time to speak. Bruises form and my voice is hoarse. "I am sorry."

"You lie to me, Tobias. You look me straight in the eye and you lie. What kind of a man does that? What kind of a man are you?" His arms are stronger than they appear when they're under layers of grey, coarse fabric. They launch me against the ground, and are followed by a series of kicks. His initial rage. But then his manipulation comes out as he squats next to me, pushing blood off of my nose. "The number of rules you've broken. The things I have asked of you you can barely obey. So many rules, Tobias. And you can say nothing to defend yourself. You have no good answer to justify what you did. You ran away from your work, left the territory of your faction, jumped onto a Dauntless train, and then publicly humiliated me in the meeting house. My coworkers and much of the Abnegation have seen what you've done. The disgrace on the family name, Tobias. All of this proves my point to lock you away before you can do worse. But then you took Beatrice with you. A sweet girl. Someone I thought would make a good wife for you. But you are intent on dragging her into the mud with you, aren't you, Tobias? Ruin us and ruin her as well. What kind of a man does that make you, Tobias?"

The name. My name. Every time he says that, he wins. Because I wince. Because the pain is being applied to me everywhere, not just where his hand touches. His words lace through my mind, wrapping around me and tightening, crushing me. I have nothing left to say. No words. I have only pain from my injuries to suffer through now. Maybe he will kick my head and I'll pass out. That is all I can hope for.

No. He stands up and the belt comes out. It's a familiar sight that sends chills down my spine and causes sweat to collect in my palms and hard breathing to fill me. He knows what that does to me, and he says nothing. Nothing in comfort to my obvious agony. No. Nothing but, "You have to deal with the consequences of your sin, Tobias."

* * *

><p>The next morning I check my body before I go into the shower. Considering it took ten minutes just to drag my sore body out of my disheveled bed and make it up before Marcus came in and saw the job undone, the results are bad. Purple and red and green and sickish yellow spot my skin. Every move of my head causes shooting pain to rip through me. The cold water soothes but stings, numbs but makes me shiver and try to grip the shower walls. My attempt is futile.<p>

Marcus sits at his desk, going over files, his eyes peering through his glasses thoughtfully, as if this is all normal. As if his son stumbling down the stairs because a false move will cause him to trip down the stairs and make all of his careful movement for naught is normal.

I make breakfast and refuse any of it. All I want is a cup of coffee, like I've seen the Erudite teachers have at school, but that is considered self-indulgent. I have tea instead. At least that is considered medicinal. Considering how we haven't a lot of medicines in the house, this and rest is all I have. Everything else has to be soothed by time. Even ice is self-indulgent.

Marcus eats his toast while reading his newspaper. I stare at my cup and stir its contents on occasion, watching the tea leaves settle before disrupting them into a hurricane again. I am the master of the tea leaves and whether they rest or not. An inane, even childish, rule, but the only one I can have. So I welcome it.

"What are your thoughts on Beatrice Prior?" Marcus asks me suddenly.

I drop my spoon. He scolds as I bend to pick it up from our perfectly clean floor. My attempts at stalling are commented on. Everything I try is ruined. But my mouth has gone dry. The time has come. The time when Marcus sees what my feelings are and exploits them to keep me on a tighter leash. The time when he uses Beatrice to his advantage.

It's the strangest of things with Beatrice. Love in Abnegation is a careful thing. Much of love is doing things for others, thinking of others and their needs before your own. But everyone here does that for everyone else. How can a love be for one single person if it could be given to a perfect stranger in the streets, such as helping them carry their groceries home?

What example of love do I have to draw on to see if my sentiments, my actions, are those of love rather than duty? None from my father, the one who watches my reaction as I settle back in my seat, like how a hawk watches its prey. Only remnants from my mother, who I can barely remember. Only a touch here, a gentle voice there. Trembling in every moment I can recall, though. I have no relatives I know of other than them. Marcus never told me of any others who might have even transferred to other factions. Marcus and Evelyn, my mother, are the only two people I have ever truly known. One haunts me, and the other kills me slowly.

I have a healthy fear of God, but not any love. The meetings at the church make Him a more holy figure than a kind one to the lowly.

Love is selfless, I decide. Love is also selfish. Beatrice held my hand and didn't let go. She knew it was wrong. She knew running away was wrong. But why would I break the rules to join her? Surely not for the punishment that I knew would follow. No. I joined breaking the rules with her because of her. Because . . . it made her happy. That was selfless. I was selfish in breaking the rules and feeling free, but I also did it for her. Is that what can be called love in Abnegation? Breaking the rules and being selfish together?

"She is . . . a good worker" are the words I say.

"That is all?" Marcus asks, his tone sharp.

"She shows many good qualities and traits," I say. There are many things I know but don't say. Like how the strange angles of her face are captivating. How her face tightens when she's angry, how her anger makes me feel alive. How her hand in mine, her trust in me, sends my heart palpitating like nothing I have ever felt. How a single touch from her makes me wince, not out of pain, but of surprise. That the touch didn't hurt. No. Just soft, not harsh.

I tighten my aching jaw. No. I won't tell him. I can't. Letting him have information gives him too much power. I withhold. Won't let him beat it out of me. Because of all the things he has touched, has left his influence on, in my life, this won't be one of them. I won't let him touch this, blemish it, when it is fantastical and beautiful and soft.

"Would you say she is a true Abnegation member?" Marcus asks.

He's trying to find a hitch in my voice. He treads carefully.

I keep my eyes down. "Yes, sir."

He leans back in his chair. Not to relax. Oh no. I know this interrogation isn't over until he wants it to be. "Do you think she would make you a good wife?" is his next question.

"Yes, sir," I say, my voice barely audible.

"Speak up, Tobias," he barks.

"Yes, sir," I say, sitting up straight. My head down.

"Do you like her, Tobias?" Marcus asks.

My name is a punch to the gut.

"Answer me, Tobias!"

"Yes, sir," I say sullenly.

"Good," Marcus says. He eats his remaining toast and stands up. Holding his folded newspaper, he says, "Then I will have to speak to her parents."

I remain seated as he goes to leave the room. Then he says, "Are you going to the warehouses today?"

"Yes, sir," I say.

"Do you like being there?"

I say the only thing he wants to hear. "Yes, sir." My complacency.

"Would you rather be put into a different position, such as being a manager at the old folks' home?"

I shake my head. Then I realize what he is doing.

"Why is that, Tobias?"

Saying I like my job means I sound content. Being content is synonymous with being selfish. I don't even like my job, though, however repetitive and easy it is. The only reasons I stay in the warehouses is for the spare, rare moments of flying yellow hair, of swift, tiny hands ripping up paper, of a strong voice not punishing me for every disagreeing word that leaves my mouth.

"I am good at my job. I don't want to ruin anything I could do at the home," I say.

Marcus considers this. "Don't be late, then, Tobias."

My legs scream at the thought of walking to the warehouses. My head aches as I nod.

He leaves for work and I can breathe. Pushing myself up, I toss my tea into the sink and plant my hands against the sink's ledge. Swallow harshly. My mind moves rapidly. Thinks of how he can use anything I say against me. But how could he, when I mostly said the only thing he wanted to hear: "Yes, sir."

*** Tris's point of view ***

Any color stands out in Abnegation. My hair is a marker of brightness in repetition. So is the purple mark against Tobias's jaw. I can't help my own jaw dropping in shock when I see it. But then he turns his face to me, and I shut my mouth and look away. Staring is not like the Abnegation. Must be like the Abnegation. I must. I have to. I have to.

"Beatrice," he says.

I shake my head, despite my best efforts. "Don't call me that. Please."

His voice cracks. It's huskier, crackly. Curious. "Why?"

"It doesn't sound right," I say. Beatrice is the good Abnegation girl who follows all the rules and replicates her parents. But around him, I am not her. I tell him things I don't dare tell anyone else for fear that their selfless fear of my traitorous words will have them turning me to my parents for a talking-to. For good discipline courtesy of words that hit hard.

"Do you want me to call you something else?" he asks.

I stop ripping tape for a moment. "Something Else is worse than Beatrice."

The laugh he has is unmistakable. So rarely heard, it's strange to hear from him, from anyone in Abnegation at all. "Fine. Choose your name. You can pick something better."

A new name? Unheard of. I bite my lip as I think. Take down letters from my name and rearrange them to form something better. "Tris," I finally say.

"Fine, Tris," he says.

"And you?" I ask.

"What about me?" he asks.

"Do you want a new name?"

He shakes his head. "No. I . . . I like how you say my name." He reaches over and helps me tear off the tape. Then his words spill, hot and fast, into my ear, causing me to freeze from surprise. "Marcus wants us to get married. He wants you to be a good Abnegation and make sure I adhere to the same rules. He wants us to be the quietest couple ever to live here. He wants us, despite my reputation, to not cause any words or implications. He wants us to be bricks in a wall, not out of place. Believe me when I say that it is the only way we can be together. At all. He wants to move me out of this building and away from you if I am seen with you and you break rules, or I break rules with you."

My mind whirls and I can only grasp and pull out one thought from the mess of my spinning thoughts: Marcus always has one hand on Tobias's shoulder. His grip is what he and only he can control.

"Tobias, what do you mean?" I ask. The tape is all gone from the box. No one is around us. I touch his face and cause his words to instantly stop. His eyes clear. He is in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't tell you," he says.

"Why not?"

"Too much explaining to do. It's a long story that I can't give you. Not now. Please, Tris, just . . . just be complacent. Conform. It's all we can do. Please." His voice is a desperate plea. His dark blue eyes are pleading. Something in his face makes my frustration at him ebb away. Because all I see are cracks in armor.

"I can't live like that," I say.

"We'll find some solution. But please. For the moment. Until we come up with something. Until . . ." his words are gone. But he has an answer. He has something to say, something he wants to say desperately. Some invisible force is holding it back from me.

"Until what?" I ask. My fingers are softer on his skin. I amaze myself as they seem to detach from my thoughts and move on their own knowing accord. "Until when, Tobias?"

"I can tell you if I marry you," he says. Then he turns away and rips open another box, leaving me to only stare at him in shock. No. Not in complete shock. Marriage is all along what my parents have planned for me to have with him. And the thought of having him as mine . . . it is not a bad one. But to hear it from him, when before it hasn't been talked about between the two of us, is strange. Bewildering. And what secret is this? To only be given to me when I am that trusted? We are not the Candor. Abnegation keep secrets; though it is not wanted, it is not condoned.

Suddenly I find myself burning with Erudite curiosity, Candor truth-wanting, and Abnegation compassion. I say nothing.

Conforming is what I've been trying to will myself to do anyway. But to see those ghosts in his eyes, to see the blatant need of my doing so, seals it. I turn to do my job. Silence falls around us. No selfish, secrecy-laced talk between us. But no selfless conversation inquiring politely how the other is, either. No conversation at all. A compromise.

A compromise is all I can scrape together when I can see the purple seared against his jaw.

* * *

><p>The rules of being selfless number too many to write down. It is felt, then, what is selfless and what isn't. What can get you reprimanded and what can get you commended. One of them is gossiping. It is frowned upon. So the Abnegation don't do it. Sometimes I heard it across the school cafeteria from the Erudite. The mocking, teasing tones of jest talk being exchanged by the Dauntless tables. The discussion, the balance of scales, of sides, from the Candor. The absolute peace of the Amity. But nothing from the Abnegation. Indulgent, hurting talk is not tolerated.<p>

Even so, with all our laws, I feel the burn of eyes digging into my neck. See the out-of-corner stares from eyes of passing neighbors. The disappointment on the faces of people who have known me my entire life. The pitying smile from Susan. She doesn't accept my behavior, but her nature is forgiving. But she knows. She knows that I ran with the rebellious Tobias Eaton. His reputation must somehow be attached to me now. Association is a strong thing.

Tobias Eaton is a powerful name. Being attached to either him or his father changes your name. It gives it a good recommendation. Or condemnation.

I hate it. I don't say anything but walk by. But the cold doesn't sting as much as this. And I know I was not noticeable beforehand. Not with my short height, my pale, small body. My plain face. But the attention now is unwanted. Judgement against something I did rather than what I look like. I can control my features a little. What I do even more. When their judgment is against something I had control over, it hurts. It aches. It burns. I realize that conforming to their pity stares and their unlost glances is not what I want.

Tobias and I are not allowed out of anyone's sight. The brief moment of exchange in the warehouse was the last of many. The rest of the time the population has their eyes on us. No words. No. No gossip. Only worse. Opinions. Unspoken ones. Ones that cannot be changed.

I cannot change them. So I will not have to make them happy anymore. I can fly. But only the promise to Tobias keeps me tethered to the ground.

But as the months pass, after moments of grinding teeth and pinching my hands under the table to choke down words, as the weather dissipates to sludge, I can't keep it down anymore. Somehow we're still allowed to walk to and from the warehouses together. That hasn't been taken away from us when it could have easily been for such breaking of rules. I am grateful for it. I have gotten used to barely moving my lips as we pass waving, polite hands lining the front yards of our neighborhood.

"Tobias," I say. "I can't do this."

"Walk in this snow, Tris?" Tobias says, raising his soaked shoes for emphasis.

"Live like this." I stop, making him stop and notice me. "Abnegation . . . hurts." To be contained like this makes me die slowly inside. For my first sixteen years it was easier. People allowed me to make mistakes. I was growing up. But after becoming a real member of Abnegation, after swearing my allegiance to this faction, the pressure mounted on my shoulders. It burdened me then and burdens me now. Especially when I think about today.

It's my birthday, and I can't help but remember spending many of my previous birthdays talking with Caleb. The thought of him being Erudite makes me sick because of my own choice. Because I wanted to join Dauntless and didn't because I lied to myself and said I could do this. Not because of his abandonment of our family, but because I was ready to do that myself.

"Of course it hurts. It's not forgiving. You keep everything back so you suffer by yourself," he says. "Drop your glove."

Justification of our stopping in the middle of the street. It falls to the ground in a ragged bunch.

"I need to escape," I say, as he bends to retrieve my glove.

"That's all on your mind, isn't it?" he says.

"Why? Isn't it on yours?" I ask.

He sighs as he straightens. Holds out my glove and tugs it onto my hand. "Always. But our one chance is gone. The Choosing Ceremony has long since passed. That was the only chance we had. Now . . . we have to settle down, or become factionless."

Factionless. A word that sends most people trembling. To see the factionless clean the streets, drive the buses, wash the rooms, it's a dismal thing. Almost like we are higher in rank than them even as the selfless. But we all know one thing. Factionless is the one thing you do not want to become. At least in factions we have community. People to count on, even if we don't know them personally.

But my eyes have been turning more to paying attention to those who wander our streets and sleep in our abandoned buildings. How they come and go as they please. Even without family or a clean house or a place to call home, they manage to survive. Do they survive because it is all they can do, or do they survive because it is their way of living?

I could never become factionless. I won't let myself. No matter what enchanting dreams of walking around freely with no rules to tie my feet to the ground I have, it is the lowest of the low. And the thought of abandoning my parents after all they have done for me, after all the sacrifices and all the touches and reprimanding, and especially now, when Caleb is gone, gone forever, keeps me here.

Tobias's hand is still pulling on mine. My head snaps up and he says nonchalantly, loud enough for passersby to hear, "It won't fit."

"Let me help you," I say. It is already on.

"I have an idea," he says.

"What kind of an idea?" My expectations are low. There is only so much we can do. Marcus nor my parents have brought up our impending marriage again. In Abnegation, the parents are the main communicators in this game. The boy is talked to by his parents and the girl by her parents. The boy talks to both pairs of parents while the girl waits silently. A verdict is reached, heads are bowed in respect, and usually a date is set.

"How do you feel about leaving your house late at night, with no one knowing you're leaving, Tris?" Tobias asks. His face is expectant. "Can you do that?"

He knows I can. I nod. "Why, Tobias?"

"We can run away. Not leave, but run. It was great the last time. It only ended because we were caught. The only way to not get caught is to do it when no one can see us. And who can see us in the dark?" An eyebrow raises on his face. He gives my glove a final tug and turns and walks, making me force my legs to move along with him.

The amount of thought he has probably given this plan. The amount of hours he has to himself. It . . . reminds me of the Erudite. I shake my head and look ahead, towards the sludge-covered ground. One of my main problems since officially becoming a member of Abnegation has been forcing myself into one concrete box, one faction. My thoughts sort my actions into five categories, five factions, and my disappointment against myself grows when they don't fit into a grey colored box. I know now, and have always known, that just because I grew up and chose Abnegation doesn't mean I fit in here. I can try for years and years, the rest of my life, and never fit in. Never belong. So I need to free myself from the thought of ever truly being an Abnegation member. I need to stop sorting everything in factions. I need to stop thinking about factions.

Tobias's plan is his own. And it is simple. It is brilliant. I want it.

"What time?" I ask at the door. I can see my mother rolling out bread behind a window pane. My tone keeps quiet.

Lights go out at ten in Abnegation. It is an enforced curfew. No guards checking our homes, but another rule we're expected to follow. They trust us to follow it.

"Ten after ten?" he asks.

"That will work," I say.

His hand in mine is a slip, a touch, a slight squeeze. Then he walks down my porch steps without so much as a goodbye. But I don't need a goodbye from him. I am going to see him soon enough.

* * *

><p>The houses in my neighborhood don't have good ventilation systems. The rail along the stairs is cold under my fingertips as I step lightly down the stairs. No creaks. I am as silent as a mouse as I drag on my boots. The snow is barely more than mud now. The weather has warmed some. Spring has shown its signs of coming. It is a comforting thought, to have spring as usual. The trees and flowers we see growing along the neutral buildings used by all the factions are much of the only beauty we get to see.<p>

The door opens and I see dark night, a pale moon, and pinpricks of stars. Wrapping my arms around myself, I stand on the sidewalk and watch as the door to the Eatons' creaks open. Something about Tobias's figure as he checks the inside of the house before easing the door shut reminds me of a criminal stealing out into the night.

"You came," he says when he joins me.

I nod. I am not one to go back on my word. But seeing as I had to think it over to see if it was smart beforehand is probably a good reason for him to fear my backing out. After all, hadn't he told me before to not do this? To not break out?

But we both know we cannot do that. We cannot wear this mask all the times.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Wherever you want to," he says, smiling a little. He looks around, "Anywhere but here."

That is something we can both agree on. I grasp his hand and we walk. We're taught from a young age that touching is a powerful thing. This hand holding has been ours from the beginning. It still instills chills in me. A boy holding my hand. A scary thought.

It's a good scary, though.

"I don't want to go to Erudite," I say.

"Because of Caleb," Tobias says.

"Candor doesn't a lot to offer," I say. "And the Dauntless are guards. They have to be traveling around in shifts in their compound."

"Amity, then," Tobias says.

"What do you think of Amity?" I ask. "My friend Robert transferred there."

"They think more of peace than helping others," Tobias says.

"Does that make us a better faction than them?" I ask.

His lips purse. "None of our virtues makes one particular faction better than another. Each virtue has its own pros and cons."

"What are the pros of living here, though?" I ask.

"You can answer that question. You know the answer. Or you wouldn't have stayed," Tobias says.

That makes me frown as our feet stray off the grey sidewalk and onto a street that passes some factionless buildings. Cracks and potholes dot the road. I avoid these and hope, suddenly realizing where we are, that we don't encounter any factionless.

"Like I told you before. It's safe here," I say.

"That is all you like here?" Tobias asks.

"I like being with my parents. Familiarity instead of choosing something I don't know," I say.

"You sacrificed freedom for comfort," Tobias says.

I frown. "I chose what I did because I had to. It wasn't a sacrifice."

"If it had its cost on you, it was a sacrifice," Tobias says.

"I had to do it. That's all," I say, shaking my head and picking up my pace.

"Why? For your parents? Did you know that your brother was going to leave them?" Tobias asks.

"Why do you have so many questions?" I ask.

"I'm curious," he says.

"A dangerous thing to say around here," I say.

"We're not in Abnegation anymore. We're on factionless ground. It's the only place anyone can exhibit any other traits than the ones of their factions," he says. He spreads his arms out in emphasis.

"Just because we're in neutral territory doesn't mean you can just say anything," I say, folding my arms over my chest. But I can't help the smile on my face. He is challenging me; our tones aren't serious, though the subject matter is. Our conversation now could be used against us and land us here permanently if anyone knew.

"Yes, I can," he says, sounding the most giddy, the most free, I've ever heard him.

"No. You can't. You'll wake up the factionless," I say.

His eyes are captivating. They shouldn't be. But they are. "What can they do, Tris? Complain about us to our parents? Get us kicked out of Abnegation? That's virtually impossible. All they can do is run us out of their grounds, cursing our names."

I hesitate. "You mean I could say anything, anything at all, and nothing could be done about it by them?"

"How can they do anything about it?" His tone is inviting. But serious. "Have any selfish secrets, Tris?"

My sudden silence must have prompted him. His hands drop.

I squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. The pros and cons, like he said. Tori said to not tell anyone, though my parents have probably derived as much. What have I to lose by telling him?

The factionless could be what Tobias doesn't think them to be. They could be informative. They could be deadly.

Tobias has his secret that he doesn't trust in my hands until we are married. Until then, nothing. Why should I tell him any secrets of mine if he doesn't even trust me enough to tell me his?

I shake my head. "None worth telling."

"There is one, then, Tris," he says.

"I'm not telling you," I say.

"You don't trust me," he says, his voice almost hollow.

"You don't trust me," I say in defense.

"Fine," he says. For a moment I think he is going to tell me his secret, but he just says, "We are going to pass through Dauntless territory to get to Amity."

"Have you ever been there at all?" I ask. "Sometimes my father goes to talk to the guards at the fence. Nothing more, though."

"No. I have lived here my entire life and never have I gone into the Dauntless territory. Never," he says. He holds out his hand. I grasp it in a death-grip.

The Dauntless are a very dark group. Always covered in black and dark colors, with pierced ears and noses and navels and dyed hair, their personal adornments reflect their living spaces. I see a large hole by a glass floor in the concrete ground. The train runs past it. Across the walls of the surrounding buildings are splatters of paints, scraped masterpieces of chalk and harsh paint. The work of youths marking their territory like dogs.

No lights are on. But that doesn't mean that Dauntless couldn't find us if they had need to. We're as quiet as mice in a cat's lands as we walk through Dauntless. Despite the darkness, I am worried about us getting caught. But my legs take the pace they want; the air smells sweet despite the smoke from cigarettes; I feel a laugh bubbling in my chest.

"Why are you laughing, Tris?" His voice is . . . soft.

"I'm happy," I say. Then the grin won't go away. It even coaxes a smile out of him.

Out of Dauntless and into Amity's green fields. The fence slices them in half, but I barely notice. Around me around fields with a dirt road along the fence. I won't go that far. Around here are tall trees reaching for the sky and tiny rocks.

It starts as swampland and weeds, getting mud on our shoes. It won't matter, though, because of the sludge we will walk through. They'll be cleaned before we get home. Any evidence will be destroyed. Then I see a spring flower pop up. A wild yellow one. Then dandelions, like the ones I had seen in my school textbooks. They flutter, broken, into the air, when I touch them. I stop and pick them and then let them crumble in the wind. The moon lights everything, making all pale and light grey and blue instead of pitch black.

"It's beautiful here," I say.

"You can't say that. That is illegal," Tobias says seriously.

I give him a funny look and then break from him, running and letting my skirts get caught and then snap as they're pulled by the weeds. But I keep running. My arms stretch out and I spin. My skirts loop around me, then settle down. I close my eyes and inhale deep breaths. I am silent, still, between earth and sky. I am a statue for a moment. I breathe. That is all I do. I feel and breathe. Feel my heartbeat and the wind around me.

Opening my eyes, I fall to my knees. Spread across the weeds that pull me to them like tiny arms yearning for my company. My bun is gone; I took it out. I will redo it before bed. But my blonde hair, cut as the rest of the women's, spreads out like butter across bread. My arms and legs stretch, heedless of how much of my skin Tobias sees. I don't care. I don't care.

Up above me is the endless sky. It is not contained by the guards or the fence I've heard is around the city. Nothing holds it. Clouds are gone, letting only the stars take their rightful places in the sky. They're beautiful. They twinkle.

Tobias kneels besides me. His hands fit against his kneecaps. "What are you looking at?" he asks.

"Everything. Everything for once," I say.

He looks up and I say, pulling on his arm, "Lay down."

Unheard of. Disgraceful. He does. Our hands join between us as I feel his body next to mine. A dangerous shiver runs up my spine.

"It's . . . amazing," he says.

"Uncontained," I say.

A few minutes of perfect silence pass. A slight breeze causes the weeds to bend and pull up and down. I am not chilled, though. I am on fire.

"Do you believe anyone is up there?" he asks me suddenly.

"Do I believe if God and heaven are up there?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

My parents pray around the dinner table. I participate, but I wonder exactly how much of myself I put into it. Do I follow it because it is duty to my parents? Or duty to God?

"Do you?" I ask instead.

"Yeah," he says. "It's the hope of it, really. To think that someday we'll die and go somewhere far better than here. And of course you have to believe in God if you believe in heaven, for who could have made it? Made heaven? Made that promise?" He turns so his head is balanced on his hand. "Do you think heaven exists?"

I ponder a moment. "Yes," I say slowly.

"Good." Another moment passes. "I hope my mom is there when I die."

His mother. I remember her funeral, remember attending it. It was grey and blank and raining. Afterwards had been a lunch at the Eatons. Suddenly I find a small boy in the corner by the window, not saying a word but leaning his head against the cold glass, watching the rain, and attach him to this man in front of me. The one and the same.

"That's all I've got," he says. His eyes drift to our hands. His thumb rubs against my skin. It's . . . frightening. The touch. But not him. He isn't scary in the slightest.

"Believe in it, then," I say.

"I will. And I do," he says. He heaves a heavy sigh. "Tris . . . how long do you think this will last?"

"What? Our night out? There aren't any wild animals coming to get us, are there?" I ask, sitting up straight suddenly. The reason the fence is up is to protect us from what lies outside it. I've been told of fantastic accounts of sightings of animals that are ravaging beasts.

"You're perfectly safe with me, Tris," Tobias says. He frowns. "No. That's a lie. But lay back down, Tris." A moment passes. I stare at him. Finally, he says, "I don't want this to end."

"Why end it, then?" I ask.

"It's inevitable. We spend so much time together it's strange that we're not married," he says. "We're expected to, or else news gets around. People won't say anything, but they will sure as hell be thinking it."

He curses and I don't care.

"So you're expected to settle this?" I say.

"Yes. But I don't want to unless you feel comfortable with it. I don't want to hold this against you." His tongue plays at his cheek. "You can have a say in this. If you want to marry me or not."

The parents definitely take a key role in the engagement process. My opinion does count, yes, but to be selfless is to do what my parents want me to do. But I know that I cannot be Abnegation. All my life, I have struggled. For once, I have to think about myself.

"I wouldn't mind." No. That sounds wrong. Like the least I can do is tolerate him. I sit up a little. Something catches in my throat. I swallow. Close my eyes. Whisper. "I want to marry you."

I open my eyes. No smile is on his face. Nothing but a flickering of . . . relief in his eyes. The stars reflect off of them. Those dark blue eyes. Like the color of the sky.

"I . . . I will talk to my father about it, then," he says. "Marcus . . . is aware . . . of my thoughts about you. He hasn't said anything against it."

If he did, I would have heard. Or known. Tobias wouldn't be seen with me then, if the intentions of marriage were gone. No. They are still there, so close I can touch them. It scares me that I can reach out and touch them. They're so close. After so long, marriage. What my parents have.

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. The freedom has left the air. Only a heavy air of the future lies around us. It's making my heart beat harder, sweat collect in my palms. I stand up, taking Tobias with me.

I don't know where I'm walking. But my feet carry me away from the field on towards Amity. They have no guards, for they welcome every faction. And person. Such as the factionless. It's all quiet, no lights on. No one out and about. Just the two of us roaming around the orchards like we've lived here our entire lives.

My hand runs up an apple tree. It has no fruit. No flowers even. It's too early in the season. But the leaves that hang low enough I touch. My hand slips out of Tobias's and I carry myself up the limbs of the tree. My shoes fall again and again, but I brace myself, grind my teeth, and I climb up the tree until I swing onto a branch. But that isn't enough. I can't see out of the lower leaves. So I climb and climb and climb until the branches are no longer there. The ones I am on support my small weight.

I look out the canopy and see the wind, the birds, the tops of the buildings in the Amity compound. I am in awe of how different it is from Abnegation. Just like Tobias said. Lived in this city for so long and I haven't seen this. Haven't seen the glass houses sheltering plants or ones that have pipes creeping along the walls like vines. Or the gardens, the rolled up sheets against a tree, chalk in what must be a game across the black ground.

It's beautiful. Not simple. Not plain. Beautiful.

"Tobias," I say, looking down. He stands next to the tree, his hand touching and leaving its bark. "Join me. The view is amazing."

He steels his mouth in a straight line. His attempt is feeble but quickly abandoned. "Tris, are you even human?" he says, barely above a whisper.

"It's a simple climb. You won't get hurt and fall. I promise," I say.

"I can't, Tris," he says insistently.

"Why not?" I ask. "Tobias, come up."

"I can't, Tris," he repeats, grinding his teeth. He bites his lip and looks at the ground. "I'm afraid to."

I don't say anything. I'm too surprised. It's a simple climb. I don't think it's so high off the ground. But for him it must. Just like how his hand clutching mine sends panic through me. . . Fear. We have fear. Fear of different things. Suddenly my fear is so much more childish than his.

He sits against the trunk of the tree. I stay at my post. I don't know if he is angry at me or not for provoking him. Maybe I said too much.

I'm not apologizing. It is simply not something I should have to apologize for. I apologize for too many things in Abnegation. We're in Amity. No apologizing. Just peace.

So I climb down, my hands easily finding grips on the tree. But then my hand slips. I bite my lip and lean against the branch as the blood seeps out. No. I won't say a word. I am better than this. I am not Abnegation. I am not weak.

Tobias looks up when I come down. My thumb presses into my injured hand's wrist so that the pain isn't as harsh. The surprise on his face is more than I thought him capable. He reaches for my hand. Despite my shaking my head and saying that it's fine, he holds and inspects it like the damaged hand of a child's.

I watch his hands as he says nothing. They're long and thin. Scars, two or three, lay across them, white against olive skin. My thoughts wonder as to where they could have been from.

"It could have been worse," he says. His grip doesn't lose my hand. It only loosens gently. "It will heal."

"Have you seen worse?" I ask.

"Yes," he says.

"Did you volunteer at the hospital or the old folks' home?" I ask.

Something in his expression changes when he realizes he has shaken his head. "I was a reckless child," he says. That seems to clench the conversation, saying silently he wants another subject.

"Very reckless?" I ask.

"Enough to aggravate my father," he says.

I nod. "I know what it's like to disappoint my parents."

"I did more than disappoint him, Tris. He locked me away for years because of my actions," Tobias says. "He . . . people think I ruined him. That I'm not worth much because I am a blemish on his perfect record."

"I'm a blemish on my parents' record," I say, looking up and meeting his eyes. Natalie and Andrew Prior, perfect, model Abnegation. Except for their daughter. Their daughter who falters. Their daughter who doesn't truly belong to Abnegation. Their daughter who is Divergent and can't say a word because of it.

His smile is genuine. Even holding the arrogance of the Dauntless. "Miscreants," he whispers.

"Perfectly horrible people," I say. "We're such troublemakers."

"Delinquents."

"Second only to the Dauntless."

"By just a tiny bit."

"Selfish."

"Thoughtless."

"Imperfect."

"Human," he whispers. He hesitates, but then pushes hair back from my face. "I never see you with your hair out. It's always pulled back."

"It's the hairstyle every woman has," I say. "Out of face, out of sight, out of mind."

"Our faction covers up everything beautiful," he says. "For the mere reason of it not providing a sensible application to our lives or to others'."

Beautiful. I say it with no sound on my lips. Watch him with a gaping mouth. He called me . . . beautiful.

"Abnegation has its priorities in order," I say. "Adherence to its manifesto."

"True," he says. "But their manifesto can be wrong. Can't it?"

"Tobias," I say. I don't want to get into another discussion about the factions' relentless rules and boundaries. The talk gets us nowhere, nowhere at all.

"Yes?"

Both of his hands hold mine gently. His eyes hold my attention, not wanting to miss a single word.

I want to rip my hand out from under his. I want to hold him close and feel him touching more than my hand. My back, my arm, my face. My eyes drop down and focus on our joined hands. Almost like the sign of Abnegation. Two hands, one grasping the other, helping the other, thinking entirely of the other's feelings, their wants, their needs. But ours, ours are two equal parts. My hand lies on top of his, gripping them both. We hold each other tight.

"We shouldn't do this," I say.

"Do what?"

"Be here. Touch," I whisper. His hands make mine laced with fire.

"Fine." His grip loosens even more. A simple tug would make me free, the fire extinguished. "Pull out, Tris. Pull out. Prove to me that this is wrong."

I catch his eyes then. They burn. They shouldn't. But they must. They are the only part of him that can't be caught and taught to do what the selfless do. They don't follow orders. They are beautiful and free. Beautiful things shouldn't be covered up just because they are beautiful. But they are covered as I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I don't move. My hand remains, if tighten.

_Please._ I realize I say that. But that is all I can say. This is wrong. This is wrong. That is all I know. But . . . how is it wrong? How can I prove it is wrong when I can't find any wrong thing with it? None. There are none to be found. And he knows it.

I jump slightly when his lips touch mine. I was wanting them and not expecting them all at once. But I am still as I register facts. They're warm. They're his. They're uncondoned. They're soft.

My hand holds tighter to his. A lifeline in a swirling lake of mystery, of shadows and surprise and being lost. I hold onto him until he pulls off, and I bend my neck to hide the shame when I touch my lips together to feel his touch again.

My silence seems to unsettle him. He says, "Beatrice? I'm sorry."

I look up, my mind clear. "I am Tris. And don't you dare apologize."

"I shouldn't have done that," he says.

"So?" I whisper. "Who's going to tell? There's no one here." My hand pries his away from mine and holds it, balancing them both now in mine. Grasping them tightly. I breathe deeply. "Don't you apologize for something you haven't done wrong."

Every rule I know is gone. Everything I've ever known falls from my mind. I'm solely centered on him.

"Now we have to get married," he says seriously.

"Fine," I say, "and . . . I will look forward to it."

To being married to him. Being scared of his touch is hard, aching, but it is not worth living in fear when there is pleasure, need, mixed in. When his life is worth more to me than my own fear. When I can marry him and not be scared to be with him because of what I'm told I'm not allowed to do.

We stand up, hand in hand. He says after a moment of silence, "Can I hug you, Tris?"

In answer, I jump, my body colliding with his. His arms wrap around me, holding me tighter, gently, as my face disappears against his shoulder. After what we just did, this feels like nothing. I have seen children in school hugging. It was a sign of affection. I knew it then and know it now. Because my mother and father hug on occasion. They know touch is powerful, speaking more than a thousand words. I know it now. I know that touch is powerful. And I know it is beautiful.

* * *

><p>Sometimes it feels like my mother can see right through me. I lie too easily, leaving Candor out of my Divergent test results. But she has an eagle eye. She also gets up early. Can notice tiny tracks.<p>

A few days after Tobias kisses me in the Amity orchards, after many evening escapes with nothing but hand-holding and the gleeful smile, the relieved sigh, I return home in the still dark to see my mother by the kitchen table. I am in the house before I notice her eyes watching me. I freeze. It can't be but past four-thirty in the morning. My father doesn't wake up until five-thirty. I have never known my mother to get up before him. But there is a first time for everything. Like right now, at the worst possible moment.

Her eyes look me over. She turns to the stove and pulls off a kettle of water. Pours its contents over two small cups. The smell of tea fills the air.

I stand stock still. I know what I should do now: apologize. I should be saying sorry so much that it loses its meaning. I should be granted forgiveness from her. Then this will no longer be remembered.

But she sits down, my slight mother, and wraps her hands around her cup of tea. Her voice is serious, but her smile is warm. "It is so cold these early mornings lately. I wanted to make sure you were warm when you came home."

I sit down across from her and take the tea, nodding in respect. I focus on the brown leaves, though, not daring to look up. I don't want to see her disappointment, though I know I should be the first to talk. To say something.

"Beatrice," my mother says, "were you with him?"

I say nothing. We both know who him is.

"Beatrice," she says gently, "look at me."

I look up.

"Were you with Tobias?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Her thumb rubs against the side of her cup; she bites her lip for a moment. Then: "Beatrice, your aptitude test results were inconclusive, weren't they?"

My out-right stare at her gives her my answer.

"We discussed how there was a student who had gotten sick and left by a different way. I knew it was you," my mother says.

"How?" My voice cracks on the tiny, tiny word.

"You are my daughter," my mother says, "and . . . I was expecting it."

"How?" I say again.

"Your father transferred from Erudite. I transferred from Dauntless. We're both not Abnegation." My shock mounts as I register that my mother is not from Abnegation. I knew my father was from a different faction, but after you transfer from one faction, in order to show your allegiance to your new one, you don't speak of your old one. You cut off the ties, the blood and the emotional ones. But my mother? Dauntless-born? Born of piercings and violence and arrogance and freedom?

"Those were the two test results you received?" she says.

I shake my head. "Two of. Abnegation was the other."

"Three?" she says. Sets down the cup. "Three. Unusual." Her throat clears. "That is why you stayed in Abnegation. It is the safest of the three factions. Nobody can question you."

"I also wanted to stay with you," I say.

"But would you have been willing to sacrifice that for freedom, or knowledge, Beatrice?" my mother asks. It is a thoughtful question, but her eyes staring into mine expect an answer. "Family and safety for fire and sparks?"

I stare at her. I had thought long and hard about my choices. Of the five, Abnegation was the more familiar. The other four, not so. But she is right. Is it worth it to be comfortable and survive a quiet life, or is it more worth it to live a dangerous, flying life?

"My answer is my choice," I say.

A moment passes. The tick of the clock on my mother's watch is the only sound.

"Would you change it now, if you had the chance, Beatrice?"

I hesitate. Then nod. "Would you?"

Her smile hurts me. "Not for the world."

That hurts. It makes me seem so monstrous to want something I can't have when she is content where she is.

"What do you and Tobias do when you go out?" she asks.

The truth is something that belongs to Candor, but I owe my mother. Owe her so much for talking this out, prolonging it instead of making me apologize and then get sent to my room to dwell on my thoughts in private. "Things that are not allowed in Abnegation," I say.

"Dauntless play?" she teases.

I can feel the blush. She says, "I raised you, Beatrice, and I hope that my training has stuck onto you. Adhering to the rules is an important thing, for it contributes to the society in keeping everyone in order. But . . ." My head turns up a bit. "You're not bringing any harm to anyone. Be careful, though. Or else I will have to tell your father."

The fact that she won't tell my father this surprises me. As a councilman, he has to have a good family to support his ideas and decisions, or he can't be trusted as much. If he doesn't know . . .

"You're not telling him?" I ask.

"No, Beatrice." She holds my hand with a maternal, loving hand. "Most secrets are dangerous. But some are benign. The point is not there to tell him something that would only burden him. Whoever knows will worry. Why worry him?"

I feel my first smile since entering our house coming onto my face. I realize from the one on my mother's face, the mischievous one that tells me I am protected, that we mirror each other. Even if I can only see my face on designated occasions, I can see mine on my mother's face every time I wake each morning.

***Cackles evilly***


	4. Part 4

_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. **

*** Tobias's point of view ***

The Choosing Ceremony is the day when many of the faction members all gather in one room. We live together in the same city, all providing for a better society, but this is the only event where every faction after choosing convenes in the same room. Not everyone from the factions show up, but as Marcus is a councilman and I am his son, we are both expected to attend.

This year is different from any other year. My actions are finally being noticed; I am put on the team to be watching over the initiates who transfer or remain in Abnegation. I found out about my new position a few days again from the council. Tris is also going to be on the team. Our talents are being wasted in the warehouses, it seems.

Marcus is almost indifferent about it, which is strange. But when he clips my hair this morning, as he does on every choosing day, he tells me commands. Like he does every morning of the choosing day, only this time it is different. Not like on my choosing day, when he told me what I would do and what I would choose. Not on other days, when he told me to sit quietly and blend in with the rest of the Abnegation.

"You are going to get maybe twenty initiates. Those from Abnegation usually stay in Abnegation." That is a lie. More and more Abnegation initiates leave their faction than any other faction besides Candor. "One or two will transfer to Abnegation. You will watch over them as they engage in community service. Your object is to help them adhere to the rules of Abnegation; only the rules of Abnegation. Then at the initiation ceremony, they will sit on a bench. Older members of Abnegation will wash their feet, welcoming them in with a task of selflessness given first to them to then be passed on to others in the future. Then your work is done. The initiation process will last thirty days. No more, no less."

I nod. He says, "Don't move your head; I could cut your ear accidentally."

The amount of irony this man shows me is nothing short of miraculous. I say nothing as he finishes and says, "Clean up the mess before we leave."

I sweep up the hair and throw it away. Put the clippers back in their spot. He tells me to do things as if I haven't done them before. Like I am a child. On one hand, I am a child to him. One that is reckless and needs an unhealthy amount of discipline laid on his back. One that cowers when he touches me. And on the other, I am a man who needs a wife. Two parts to a coin that he flips to whichever he wants.

My seat on the bus to the Hub is given up as I stand up and secure my feet against the shaking ground. I look ahead, try not to notice Tris next to me holding onto the bus-guard. None of us say anything in greeting. We're still both too shaken from what she had told me about her mother finding her out but not saying anything. After our shift at the warehouse, I went home and hugged my head between my hands on my bed. All I can hope is that Marcus never, ever finds out about our midnight escapes. The moment he finds out is the moment my life is in his hands. For me to defy him twice, once without him even noticing, would be a terrific blow to his ego. His anger would grow like a weed, and he would choke me.

The last days before today I have been so nervous he asks questions. But I give him short answers that are not deceiving enough for him to call me out on them. But I eat less. I grow tired and restless as I toss in my bed. It angers me more and more as time goes by and I find my fear of my father growing instead of lessening. It had grown like this two years ago, before my Choosing Ceremony. But my fear kept me back. My fear of him coming after me after I left. I didn't want to wake up the beast by provoking him. So I stayed in his grasp. But that has not helped me at all. It was the worst decision I have ever made.

I wish I had that day back. I wish I could have run to Dauntless as fast as I could. I wish I didn't stay in Abnegation where all I have done is suffered and waited. Waited for what? I don't know.

Maybe the answer is Tris. Maybe the answer for her should have been Dauntless. She should have transferred. So should have I. We both should have run when we had the chance.

The bus sways from side to the side, stuffed with Abnegation half sitting, half standing. We arrive at the front of the Hub, the building that holds the Choosing Ceremony, and Marcus keeps his hand on the button that holds the door. He's the last one out. Because I have to, I wait for him, then meekly follow him, watching his back, as he leads us up the stairs to the high floor of the Choosing Ceremony.

While this leaves the elevator open to the rest of the factions, it leaves us tired and breathless as we enter the choosing room. Seats for each faction are already being filled. Colors of red and black and white and grey and blue all in one room. Amazing.

I take a seat near the front of the Abnegation seats, being a high-ranking man's son. Before me are the five metallic bowls that show all the decisions each initiate makes. Fire glows from one. Then stones. Clear water. Shards of clear glass. Dark soil. I can picture each substance in my mind as I close my eyes and press my hands against them. I can see it all like it was two years ago. I can see my outstretched hand, a stripe of red down my palm. I can see the red dripping onto the grey stones. I can see my father's face as I turn to join the Abnegation. Not happy. No. I get shown approval. I obeyed him. Just like he wanted.

Lives are decided in this room. Lives are ruined. Lives are changed forever.

This year is hosted by Candor. As the seats fill, Jack Kang, the representative of Candor, goes to the front. In his hand is his speech. A reminder of the virtues of the factions and why they are what they are. And a list of the names of the sixteen-year-olds going to choose.

Tris sits next to me, making me start. But then I see that on my other side my father is talking with Andrew Prior. Both are preoccupied. Tris's mother faces ahead, almost indifferent to Tris and me. Is that intentional?

"How are you this morning, Tobias?" Tris asks me.

"Nervous," I say quietly, in truth.

"We'll be fine. It should be a slight difference from working just by ourselves, anyway," Tris says. But her eyes and voice aren't focused on me. I look past my father to what she is looking at.

I see him, almost lost in all the blue the Erudite wear. Caleb Prior, her brother. Dark-haired and avoiding the faces of his grey-wearing family as he talks to a blonde-haired girl. Almost as if he is trying so hard not to notice them at all.

"Caleb," Tris says, her voice hard and her word accusing. She shakes her head and falls back in her seat.

"I don't think waving your arms could get his attention," I say, trying to make it better than she sees it.

"No. Of course not." Her hands clasp in her lap and she looks straight ahead. I can see the snarl in her mouth. "Faction before blood. But he takes that farther than it needs to ever be."

The Choosing Ceremony begins. With everyone's focus trained on Jack as he presents us with the manifestos of the five factions, nobody sees my hand hold Tris's. It is a sign of trust. A silent word to her saying I'm sorry. Because losing your family is the worst thing that can happen to you. I don't count Marcus as my family, but the loss of my mother hung heavy on me for so long. Even almost thirteen years later, it hurts, as a dull pain, to remember her. Soon Caleb will only be a dull pain in Tris. He will fade away. Not to be forgotten, but not to be remembered anymore.

Name by name is called out. I watch as many Abnegation teens drop their blood onto the grey stones. But then one soils the Amity soil. Peace over selflessness. Then another one transfers, making everyone shocked. Honesty over selflessness.

Three from other factions join ours. Two Amity and a Erudite. No Candor, who think none of others' feelings. No Dauntless, who could never calm down enough to act like an adult. But two who think more of being selfless than being selfish and hum all day and pretend that everything is perfect with the world. Then one is more interested in being lost in the crowd than feed on the power the Erudite live on.

Three received while two have left.

The Ceremony is called to a close and the factions leave in their own fashions. Some run; some walk. Some scream; some are silent. I walk with Tris and Susan Black and a few other young Abnegation members to the twenty-some odd initiates. The Abnegation-born members stand quietly while the others fidget, nervous as the dawn of what they have chosen settles on them.

Marcus addresses them first. "Welcome Abnegation initiates." He bows his head respectfully. The new transfers stumble a second or two as they imitate him. "We are glad to have you as future members of Abnegation. You have chosen the selfless faction. What being selfless to us means putting others before yourself. Forgetting your needs and focusing on others. We have rules concerning this." He hands them each a piece of paper. "These rules are the ones to live by. Remember them, then throw the paper away. They are to be the guidelines to how you live. Other Abnegation members will know it is their duty to remind you and guide you when you break a rule. By the end of thirty days, the rules should be known, imprinted in your mind. Who you are.

"The initiation process is as follows. For thirty days you will reside in the house of Councilman Walter under the jurisdiction of his wife. Each day, you will go to work at the many job sites we have in Abnegation to learn a trade and learn it well. You must know your job, but your sole focus should not always be on how you do your work. Help others in their work. You are only doing your job when you cannot see someone in need of help. After the end of the service, everyone in Abnegation attends a dinner. Older members of Abnegation will welcome you to Abnegation by washing your feet, making you clean and well to enter as Abnegation members. A meal follows where you should pass the dishes to your left, clean up any dishes from the table, and help do the dishes. Your first official meal the Abnegation way. Afterwards, houses are provided to house you all until marriage; two for boys, two for girls.

"Now, before the process starts, you are allowed questions for one time. But one time only. Then only submission to the needs of others. Are there any questions?" Marcus looks one each in the eye.

One raises her hand. A tiny girl with ginger hair. One from Amity. "Is there any money? I know the Dauntless have credits. My mother told me."

"Dauntless is different from Abnegation. Each month you are sanctioned a clothing and food and body care package according to your particular necessary needs. Other than that, you work to contribute to our society as a whole," Marcus says. His voice is tight. The mention of the other faction angers him.

The girl puts her hand down.

"Anything else?" No one says anything. "Good." He turns to me and says in a clear voice, "I leave them in your hands, Tobias. Train them well." Don't teach them anything that is not from the Abnegation rules. Do that and you will pay. So don't fail.

I straighten as he leaves. I am surprised to see that not only are we the only people left in the Hub, the rest of Abnegation having already put the chairs back, but every eye is on me.

Tris stands next to me, her eyes never leaving my face. She is looking for me to say something.

I clear my throat. I have rehearsed this way too many times to fail now. "Welcome, again, to Abnegation. Follow me. We are going to Councilman Walter's house." They follow me as we take the stairs. I don't think as we walk calmly down the stairs, not a single word being exchanged behind me. There's nothing more to say other than that. I wonder if the other factions' initiation processes are supervised so much. All I have to do is remind and encourage others. What else do the others do?

The bus stops and I instruct them to not take the seats but to stand up. Seats should be given to the elderly and the children. The initiates and members all file around me, holding onto the rope over our heads.

No other factions or members of Abnegation are in this bus. Only us and the factionless driver. I tell him where we're headed and he drives us. No one says anything, though Tris and I could dare to talk to each other now. But about what? Anything personal between us can be heard and tucked away by Susan or any of the other members. I can feel all eyes on me and I realize that I must not be an Abnegation member. I must be an instructor. I am not a fully devoted Abnegation member. I am not an example they should be following.

I must be an instructor, one who teaches them what I know but do not implement. I must be someone else.

*** Tris's point of view ***

The initiation process is coming to a close. After weeks with working with the initiates, it's strange to think that our time together is coming to a close. Soon I'll be back to my old job instead of with Mary and John from Amity and Theodore from Erudite. With those three, I am able to get pieces of information from them. Still in training, still mixed in their feelings of Abnegation, they tell me things of other factions. Of the banjo-playing and labor in the kitchens where they knead dough and sing at the same time in Amity. Of the beautiful pictures and files and films made by the students in Erudite. It weighs the pros and cons of each faction in my mind. Abnegation has nothing compared to those.

But the ceremony comes up. Tobias and I lead the newest born members to Walter's house after our shift at Abnegation. Some fiddle with their fingers. The others know better. They're done. A shoo-in.

"I thought it'd never end," John says.

"Your life is only starting here, John," Tobias says. "It would be advisable to get used to it."

He grumbles; Mary gently reprimands him that he must not grumble.

We're so proud. They are subjects of Abnegation, as much as if they were born here.

I remember being in this room and getting my feet washed. My father had done mine. I remember feeling like I could be born here again, able to fully give myself to my faction, when he stood up and offered me a hand to stand with him. An equal member.

Tobias and I sit with the other training instructors as the initiates' feet are washed, transitioning them from initiates, small children, to members, full grown adults. So quickly added to our faction after what had seemed like a lifetime of talking and meeting new faces in the warehouses. Now their laughter and their whispered questions are not allowed at all. Period. Their antics in Walter's bedrooms at night when Susan and I are parents telling them to go to bed and their pranks and small jokes during the unpacking of boxes in the warehouses are gone. Their trial run is gone, the bandage torn clean off their healed wound.

They stand up and we all bow our heads respectfully. No clapping. Quiet acknowledgement.

During the meal Abnegation women walk around the table and ask if anyone wants water. I take a turn and then return to my seat between Tobias and my mother. There is not much talking by the younger members during the meal, so I don't expect conversation with Tobias at all, but that doesn't make me less astonished when I hear Walter, the owner of this house, talking to him.

"Your job as instructor has not been unnoticed, Tobias. You have done a wonderful job with them," Walter says.

"Thank you, sir," Tobias says.

"It has been so noticed for being so exceptional that many of the council members and I have discussed moving you to the staff at the meeting house," Walter says.

Marcus says from across from me, "Walter, I was not told this."

"Marcus, it was decided that since it was not a decision that concerned all the factions that the entire council would not have to be notified for another meeting. It was discussed around a lunch so that no time would have to be taken out of anyone's schedules," Walter says patiently.

Marcus's face surprisingly shows anger, something I have never seen on him. "Is this the first time you have talked to Tobias about this, Walter?" he asks.

Tobias has his head ducked down, concentrating on drinking water. Which is hard, when his head is down. But I know the feeling. The feeling of two people disagreeing about decisions concerning you when you're in the middle and can't say a single word.

"Yes. I waited until now because I knew you would want to hear. But I also wanted Tobias to hear it from me," Walter says. "He is twenty-one, Marcus. As your son, he shows an exceptional display of leadership talents. He could help in the house and then listen in on meetings to learn and grow from them."

Marcus tightens his jaw, cleans up his anger with a smile. "I don't think I have enough faith in his skills as you do, Walter. Neither does he. Tobias?"

All eyes turn to him. He sets his water down, waits a minute. "I thank you for your offer, but decline it. I . . . I don't think I'm nearly as ready as you give me credit as being," he says. His eyes flicker from his father and then to Walter. He straightens.

"Ah, what a shame. But whatever you choose is fine with us, Tobias," Walter says, before turning back to his meal.

I'm quiet as I help the new members and some other Abnegation clean up the dishes in the big kitchen. I wash dishes and give them to Tobias to dry. Though we can't talk for fear of someone overhearing us, I communicate that I want to talk to him after we're down. As I switch shifts with my mother so I'm taking the trash out to the can outside, Tobias takes a bag as well from the dining room.

Outside I can hear wild dogs howling from the factionless sector. I take off the lid and lug the giant bag of garbage into the stinking mess. "Was there a reason you didn't take Walter's offer?" I ask. "You could be able to move higher in our government."

"That's exactly why I didn't do it," he says. The lid rattles when he tosses it onto his trashcan.

"That's not a good reason at all," I say. Being higher up in the chain of command is all the greatness one can hope for in Abnegation.

"Marcus works in government, Tris," Tobias says, his arms crossing over his chest as we make the small trek back to the back door.

"Why does your father have to do with this?" I ask. But as he shakes his head, I think back to Marcus's tightening jaw, his commanding voice. Over all these months, the slightest of signals I should have paid attention to.

"He knows that my getting higher in rank gives me high position with all the Abnegation," he says. "My reputation diminishes. I'm accepted as a normal Abnegation member."

"Why wouldn't your father want that for you?" I ask. All my father wants is for me to be accepted as I am, strange as I am, in Abnegation society. Why wouldn't Marcus want that for Tobias?

Tobias shakes his head, his tone a hiss. "Don't call him that, Tris. My father is gone. He was barely there for a moment."

"Marcus isn't your real father?" I gasp. That's unheard of in Abnegation, blatant—

"He is, technically," Tobias says, "but he stopped being one years ago."

His answer brings us to the door, and all conversation stops.

**I really didn't feel like writing about them training initiates. This is do to this being a story centered around Tobias and Tris, and not about other OC initiates. Thanks for reading! God bless!**


	5. Part 5

_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent.  
><strong>

*** Tobias's point of view ***

The councilmen's notice of me is a catalyst for my marriage. That much is obvious. For the moment we come home from the initiation dinner Marcus says, "Sit down at my desk."

No beating at the moment for the obvious interest in my talents. I instead sit across from his desk, pinch my palm under the cover of the wood so that he can't see my nervousness, though it is already written across my face.

Marcus sits, clasps his hands on his desk. "I am calling a meeting with Andrew and Natalie Prior and their daughter concerning your engagement."

There is no question as to if I object to this or not. He knows that my affections are small and few, given out to only those I have seen earn them. He knows that I have to come to love and care for Tris, wanting the best for her, and even he, Marcus Eaton, the shadow that eats away at the good things in my life, can see that. Acknowledge that. And like an Erudite, know how to gain from that. In order for my attentions not to stray to thinking about becoming a council member when such interest in my becoming one has already become apparent, he'll give me what I want to assuage me. To cause me to not think anymore than about what is in front of me. To stop me from gaining power, he'll pat me on the head this once and give me something far dearer to me.

"Sounds good," I say.

"Tomorrow," he says.

"Yes, sir."

"I expect you to be there. To sit quietly and agree."

"Yes, sir."

"I will do all the talking."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You're dismissed."

I stand up, push my chair into its place, and walk up the stairs without a sound. In my room, I sit on my bed and weigh the events of this one evening. An opportunity snatched away and an opportunity held out, straight for the taking. And I took the one I knew I wanted. I'm not even sure about the government job. All I know is that Marcus doesn't want me in government and that I love Tris. Even so, there is nothing stopping me after I leave this house from gaining a job on the council. I'll be far from Marcus's grasp. Have my own house. Have my own wife. My own family. Something that he cannot take from me.

This is a chance to escape. It's a chance to escape with Tris, and I am taking it.

* * *

><p>The decision is made quietly over a period of ten minutes. Andrew and Natalie know that as a son of a councilman I will deliver as a good Abnegation husband, despite the rumors that are quietly diminishing. They say nothing when Marcus speaks on my behalf. Tris says nothing but looks at me, her face serious, as our parents speak. I'm the edge of my seat. Nervous habit. And somehow I am reminded of the meeting when we were first introduced. From beginning to end, this end is what we were wanting. It's what we have. An engagement.<p>

Andrew and Natalie bow and smile on their way out the door.

Tris doesn't. She doesn't say a word at all.

I close the door and lean against it for a moment. It's a lot to think through.

Marcus says, "I will talk to the warehouses about sanctioning one of the houses to you."

"Do I get a say in where I live?" I ask.

"What, Tobias?" Marcus says, taking anger quickly.

"Where will my house be? Will I be able to choose the location?" I ask loudly.

"You will be grateful for the one that is gifted to you, Tobias," Marcus says before turning and slamming the door to his office. Like that is somehow supposed to make me stop thinking. But his edge slowly edged away for a moment. No angry slap, no rant or lecture that gets pounded into my head. None. Already, he can feel my power growing from this simple release of his power. And he doesn't like it.

* * *

><p>"One week," Tris mutters, wrapping her arms around her knees and looking out over the distance. The Amity fields are bending in the wind around us. I can barely see the light of dawn as the sun shows its first signs of waking up. Marcus will be up soon.<p>

"One week," I repeat her.

"Can it be real?" she says.

I don't know if she's talking to me or to herself. Ever since our engagement was announced, we've had many congratulations slapped on our backs. Smiles from neighbors, lots of talk of children and hopes of their choosing Abnegation. I hear that the council is getting worried about the amount of transfers that leave our faction each year. I know they're expecting a few children to fill the bill to keep Abnegation from becoming completely deserted.

Tris and I haven't talked about it much, the conception of children. It's not a subject that is talked about in Abnegation. My father explained it to me once. I handled the thoughts awkwardly while he laid them down as firmly as he presents an idea to the council. Then a clap on the back, the conversation over.

Sex is not an activity regarded for pleasure as my father snidely says the Dauntless think it is. It's for reproduction and nothing more. With the Abnegation knowing that every touch means something, that any wrong one can mean you're disobeying the rules of their faction, it's amazing our faction has any children at all. Force of will, I guess.

"It is, but I don't think that's the answer you want to hear," I say.

"I'm worried about it," she says.

"About what particular aspect?" I ask.

"Us as a couple. How we can function. Will we become more or less publicly known as Abnegation members or Di—" Her voice cuts off. She touches her fingers to her mouth like they were burned.

"Di—what? Tris?" I say.

"I'm worried about sex," she says bluntly.

I stare at her for a moment, too startled to do anything but. We control our language in our faction and don't say that word lightly.

"What about it?" I say.

She shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

"Why? It scares you?" I ask, wondering how above all things the mere thought of intimacy sets Tris on edge. Of all the things. Not a fast train. Not sneaking out under our parents' noses. Not climbing to the top of a tree. But sex.

She takes my hand in both of hers and holds it up for the two of us to see. Her grey eyes are shining. Not with tears. But with a hope that I understand. That I emphasize. "Just this," she says, rubbing my hand with her thumb, "scares me beyond any hope."

I shake my head. "If it scares you, you'll stop. Unless there is a part of you who understands it, you'll stop right now." She stops rubbing, but she doesn't drop my hand. She holds tighter. "Go ahead. Prove me wrong. Let go."

She doesn't move. I touch her face gently with my free hand. I smile a little. "There's still hope for you yet."

Her face shows her confused emotions. She says, "One week."

"One week." As if to help her, I say, "We'll just have to push through by sheer force of will."

A grim frown appears on her face. "Good thing we're both strong-willed people."

*** Tris's point of view ***

There are three factionless sectors in the city. One lies between the school and my house. Another is between Candor and Erudite. That is the one I am heading to with a load of boxes that are to be handed out. The factionless are not paid for their services, as it is expected of them to help in some kind with our society though they have failed becoming a part of it. But we deliver boxes and make sure that they have blankets and food and clothing. Sometimes I go with my mother and Susan to the clothing plant on the side of Erudite and collect clothes specifically made to be rationed among the factionless. But now it's just me. My mother is sure that the factionless recognize me enough and identify me as a good person so I should be safe. But on the bus my thoughts flip back to the day before my choosing. How the factionless man grabbed me and said I'd better choose wisely. Or something like that. His words have been lost as I've never seen him again in our city. I wonder if it's a chance meeting that I got or if he died before I ventured into the factionless sectors.

The bus pulls to a stop and I thank the driver as I balance the large box full of smaller boxes on my hip. I am just at the entrance to the Erudite quarter. Past it a few good hundred yards is the factionless sector. But with no stops in front of it, the bus doesn't ever stop there. Almost as if there is prejudice, or a plain dislike from the driver about her home. Or maybe they don't feel like catering to Abnegation even though they're the nicest of the factions. Frankly, I don't care. I hug the box to myself and start walking.

I am not far from the entrance to the back alleys when I hear an unsure voice say,

"Beatrice?"

I stop. Stiffen. The hair on my arms stand on end. I turn slowly, unsure if it is who I think it is. But it can only be him. Only be Caleb, with dark hair and glasses he doesn't need and a blue polo shirt with jeans. My brother. Three years older than when I last spoke to him right before we left for the Choosing Ceremony the morning we made the decisions that changed our lives and separated us forever.

I don't say anything. If he wants to talk, he will have to talk. He cut off the ties from me. I shouldn't be running back to him, justifying his decision. I shouldn't make him feel like I missed him. I want him to feel pain like I did. I want him to feel betrayal.

My eyes say as much as I want as he doesn't say anything but simply stares at me for a dumbfounded moment. Then he finds his voice. "I can't believe it's you. What are you doing here?"

I heave the box up. Nod to the alleys.

A particular frown comes onto his face. "You're not talking to me."

I could. But I don't want to. For obvious reasons.

"Because I chose Erudite and you stayed with Abnegation."

"I stayed with Mom and Dad," I say, my voice cold.

"You stayed loyal. Fine. But don't hold my choice against me, Beatrice," he says. "Just because I chose to leave doesn't mean you should be angry at me."

I drop the box on the ground and stomp over to him. I won't give him an upper hand in this battle. I won't let him think that he is right and I am shouldering some kind of childish grudge. "I stayed because I had to! And you didn't give me a single moment to even know that you were leaving! You could have said something! You could have given us a moment to say goodbye! But you walked away. You can't even meet my eyes at the Choosing Ceremony anymore. Too ashamed, Caleb?" I snap.

Caleb's eyes widen, surprised. Such strong words from his docile little sister. Well, he better get used to it. If I ever speak to him again, this is the tone I am going to take unless he can remedy my justified anger.

"You gave us nothing. You broke Dad's heart. Mom was sad for so long. And we couldn't even find you on Visiting Day." We stood, three strange, out-of-sorts grey-clothed Abnegation, by the Bean outside of Erudite's headquarters, for hours before we were pushed out, told we were overstaying our welcome. I had hoped beyond all hopes then that I could talk to Caleb, try to get some reasonable answer from him. But nothing. "Where were you?!" I yell, causing some Erudite to pause to notice me, a sad little grey bird in a lake of blue.

Caleb presses his lips together. "Beatrice, people are staring—"

"So? You care what they think of you?" I ask.

"Yes!" he says, lowering his voice. "Don't you care about what your faction thinks about you? I'm a part of Erudite now, Beatrice, so you are not allowed to yell at me just because this isn't a place you are familiar with. This is my faction. And I expect my sister to act respectfully in it."

I feel the tears rising in my eyes, and I try not to think about them. "Fine. But give me that answer."

"Then can I talk to you?" Caleb asks pleadingly.

"Fine." I roll my eyes. I don't care how I'm being perceived by my must-be shocked brother.

"I was on a trip with a few of my fellow initiates. We were watching experiments in the lab," Caleb says.

"Didn't they have family visiting them?" I ask.

"They were Erudite-born initiates. It is best to become friends with those who are most likely to get through to being full members, Beatrice," Caleb explains. "We lost track of time. We went to have dinner with their parents and Visiting Day was over. It's not a big deal around here. No one bothered to tell me that you and our parents were waiting for me."

"It would have killed you to ask?" I say.

"Who? Who could I have asked?" Caleb says.

"Anyone!" I say. "You could have asked anyone instead of thinking that we never came!"

"What do you want to hear from me, Tris?" Caleb asks.

"An 'I'm sorry' would be nice," I say.

"Fine. I'm sorry."

He's just saying that to assuage me. His sincerity lacks. But I expect that is the best I can get from Caleb. I shift the box to my other side and say, "This is getting heavy. What do you want to ask me?"

"I heard you were getting married," he says, sounding a little hurt.

"You're correct," I say.

"To whom?" he asks.

"Tobias Eaton," I say proudly.

His jaw drops. "Marcus Eaton's son?"

"The only one, yes," I say.

"But Beatrice, remember all those things we heard about him from what Dad told us at the dinner table? He stays in Marcus's house because his reputation ruins Marcus. He—he defies the rules of Abnegation. How did you even come to speak to him, never mind get engaged to him?" Caleb is completely aghast. The facts don't add up in his head. He can't find a way to explain this.

I smile sweetly. "We went and made out behind the meeting house and it carried on from there."

Caleb's jaw hangs. I'm not sure he even knows what 'made out' means. I picked it up from a stolen conversation in the school halls from the Dauntless. All I know is that it is disgusting and pleasurable.

"Beatrice," he says after a moment.

I shake my head and say, "You need to be able to separate fact from fiction. Haven't the Erudite taught you that much?"

"How?" he says, his word hard.

"Mom and Dad arranged a meeting with Marcus Eaton with the sole purpose of our marriage in mind. You know how arranged and parent-overseen Abnegation marriages are," I say.

Caleb nods. This is the truth he can accept. "But Mom and Dad approve of him."

"He's proved himself contrary to the rumors we've heard," I say.

"How so?" Caleb asks.

Erudite. Always full of questions, always looking for answers.

"Anything else, Caleb?" I say, the box slipping slowly from my fingers. I catch it and keep my eyes on him. He bites the inside of his cheek and says, "How are Mom and Dad?"

"Fine. How do you like it here?" I ask. Even my Erudite curiosity cannot help but come out, always wondering how the other factions work outside of Abnegation.

"Well enough. I've made some friends and I'm sharing an apartment with a couple of them. We have a rigorous schedule here. I'm actually on break."

My smile threatens to break. "Then you'd better get back to your friends."

"Yeah." He nods and then offers his hand. I stare at it for a moment. He clears his throat. "People shake hands around here. It's like bowing your head."

I shake his hand awkwardly. He says, "Goodbye, Beatrice." A few steps later, he turns back to me. I don't move. "Do you come by here often?"

"Not at all," I say, my words so clear that he has to understand the implication behind them. That I don't plan on coming back here after this. Not even his presence can pull me back when I can't even get my brother for who he was before the Choosing Ceremony. Not for the boy who has become an Erudite.

* * *

><p>There is only one picture of my parents on their wedding day in our house. It stands in a frame on a shelf full of books that almost overwhelm it. But I've always seen it as a slight rebellious touch, to have a moment of a single, beautiful day for them to go back on.<p>

I've always loved that picture, imagined my wedding to look like theirs. So simple, so plain. But my parents had love. Their love still remains.

My mother twists my hair into a bun today. She even adds an excessive little bunch of white flowers that grow wildly across our plain, buzzed yard. She smiles, takes in my dress, which is a simple grey gown with short sleeves. She brushes out the wrinkles and says, "You look beautiful, Beatrice."

"Thank you," I say. On this special day, I am able to see myself, just once, in our mirror. So she stands back and gives me a chance. One chance to take in my full appearance, to keep a picture in my mind forever. I am so tiny, so plain. But the excitement of the day that I've been feeling growing in my chest comes out on my face. My face is softened with a smile. For one day, I am beautiful. I am noticeable.

My mother slips up behind me and a chain touches my skin. A silver colored chain. Simple.

"Now you're ready," she says. Her hands squeeze my arms.

I turn to her and hug her tightly, more tightly than I've ever hugged her. I am fearless today. And since she knows of my divergence, I know I can trust her not to tell anyone on me.

Pulling back, she wipes a tear away from her eye. "I never thought I'd see this day."

"Were you counting on me not getting married?" I ask.

"I wasn't counting on either of my children staying in Abnegation. When you and Caleb were growing up, I couldn't help but wonder as I watched you two play together if I would see either of you become adults," she says. She sighs. "Caleb is gone, but I still have you. And for you I am thankful." She brushes hair out of my face and I ache. I didn't tell her about my meeting Caleb. It would just be too painful to tell her of his response about leaving us at the Bean.

She closes the mirror and we walk to the small church as the sun comes out. It's a beautiful, warm day. I love it. No grey clouds out on my wedding day. My wedding day. That is what I will call it, and nothing can change that. Not a single rule.

It's strange to think that everything has come to this. Has led up to this moment. My parents, knowing that I needed a husband unless I wanted to remain a citizen of their household forever, were asked by Marcus Eaton, and this is the result of it. Marcus Eaton of all people. My mind is a blur, but full of questions for tonight when no one is around us, and it is just me and Tobias and secrets spill. Because I am going to tell him tonight. About my divergence. I trust him far more than any person I know. My fondness for him makes me blush at the thought of it. It's love, I think. Maybe not what my parents have now, but it holds the potential to grow like theirs. He is a kind man. A kind, strange, rule-breaking man. And though he doesn't follow every single one, he has a moral guideline that makes sense to me. He is the only one I can imagine holding my hand. I cannot picture a single other man who I would allow myself to marry. I know that I never wanted to truly be alone, with no one in the world to call my own and no one to say that I was theirs. Our relationship, this between us, this understanding of each other, is all I want. Not a mere object I will tolerate to assuage my parents. This is all I can want from a life in Abnegation. And for the first time, I am looking forward to it.

The church is filled with guests I only recognize by name and place. Alice from the warehouses. Our next-door neighbors the Ganders. Then I can see Marcus at the front as my mother presses her hand against my arm and watches as my father comes to take my other arm. In Abnegation, both parents lead the girl down the aisle. There are no other members of the wedding parties. Just our parents and the reverend.

The walk is quick. All eyes are on us. Smiles present themselves to us. But I barely notice.

My eyes are only ahead, to where Tobias is scuffing his shoe into the carpet. He takes a deep breath and looks up, and I've never found myself in such a state before. I want to leap into his arms right here, right now, in front of everyone I know. But I restrain myself. Only a few more hours. Only a few more hours of agonizing wait.

My parents present me, smiling as they each turn and kiss my cheek before going to sit down. I am alone for a moment before I walk forward, my hands clasped obediently in front of me, and look into his eyes. I can hear the reverend's words concerning God, union, and all gathered here. And I get captured in dark blue eyes.

The reverend places our hands together, joined together. Wraps a grey string around them. All is silent except for his words and the steady beating of my heart. I am sure that everyone can hear it. I don't care. I simply don't care.

"By the power invested in me by God and the faction of Abnegation, I declare you as husband and wife." No kissing at Abnegation weddings, though I hear they kiss at other factions' weddings. Instead we turn, our hands still clasped, and bow our heads respectfully to the rest of the congregation. They return the gesture. Then they all stand up and watch as the two of us walk calmly out of the church, leading the procession to the Eatons' house for the traditional supper.

The supper is prepared by many of the Abnegation women and my mother. I can smell it as Tobias draws his hand up, allowing me to walk first into his father's house. He follows me. Our first crossing a threshold since our marriage.

Quiet voices murmur as I am separated from Tobias by my mother, who says, "I brought you a plain dress for now." Upstairs in one of the rooms my mother has saved me a dress that she has been sewing all the past two weeks as a present for me. Seeing as presents are considered self-indulgent, they are rare, few and far in between.

She leads me up with Susan, who says, "Congratulations, Mrs. Eaton."

"Thank you, Susan," I say, genuinely meaning it. She smiles and when we come to the hallway, leads me with my mother to the room with the dress.

In this room are six boxes. Three for Tobias, three for me. Our collected belongings from our childhood homes. It is traditional for everyone invited to the wedding to help bring our things to our new house and help us move in. That is for after supper.

Across the plain bed is my dress. I barely notice it for I am looking around the room. There are not many unused rooms in an Abnegation house. The houses are divided according to how many people live in the house, making for less waste. Efficiency. I can't help but wonder whose room this is. Surely not Marcus's, for the bed is stripped bare, save my new dress. Then I get a pain in my chest. This is the first and only time I will see Tobias's childhood bedroom. This must be his. I run my hand along the dresser before turning to my mother and Susan. They hold up the dress. It is smooth and actually looks like it will fit me. It covers up more skin than my wedding dress, but I am a wife now. No excessive skin, especially now.

I feel tears in my eyes when I see my mother's smile. A Dauntless pride across her face. It fits her, though, just as much as the bun atop her head or the grey dress she wears.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"It will look even more beautiful on you," my mother says. My wedding dress is removed and the beautiful grey dress is slipped on. It fits perfectly. I run my fingers down the fabric, saying, "Thank you, Mother."

"It was a pleasure to make it for you, Beatrice," my mother says. She smiles.

**WEDDING. God bless!**


	6. Part 6

_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. Here is the last chapter! :)**

*** Tobias's point of view ***

After the absolute solitude for years with only Marcus living here besides myself, it was strange to have the Priors over. I was nervous about that. Sometimes he will have business associates over, but I am never there during the meetings. I wonder if I had been present at those that I wouldn't be as nervous as I am now.

I sit down on the sofa, receive the congratulations from the Abnegation. Food is being warmed. Seeing as we barely have any celebrations in Abnegation, sometimes we allow ourselves to be happy about some things. So around me people are happy. I nod and answer questions with small answers. My eyes look at Marcus, who is as charismatic as can be. He makes some smile, others laugh. Somehow he is able to separate himself into two people. My father, and Abnegation's councilman. I want to yell at them, tell them what kind of a monster he is. How he is wearing a cloak masking who he really is.

My amazement is not only limited to Marcus. Watching all the Abnegation mill about as if they are home, it's wrong. All our houses look the same, yes, but my house is marked. Every square inch is covered in scars, in blinding memories that make me wince just to think of them. Yet they drink from their glasses and talk in polite tones as if there was no suffering here. As if my screams hadn't echoed more than once against these walls. As if all is normal.

I swallow and wish I could escape this house. Right now, just leave with Tris and not have anything to do with here anymore. But an hour or two of our wedding party remains. My feet tap against the floor in nervous habit and I look over my shoulder more than once at the grandfather clock that ticks by the seconds. I urge it silently on and turn back to face the chair in front of me. But then I see people walking down the stairs. I quickly stand up, almost shell-shocked. Tris has rather plain features, which I don't mind. But when she wears clothes that fit, she is beautiful. Every inch of her.

I go to take her hand. It fits with mine perfectly, and I realize that I am allowed to do this now. No one can stop us.

Taking seats, Marcus says the prayer over the food, though I know he has no authority to do that. I am sure that God doesn't regard a monster's prayer as genuine. Then the meal begins. Everyone passes the dishes around and many talk. But I don't. I merely hold Tris's hand on top of the table we're sitting at. Now that the opportunity shows itself, I am going to snatch it every moment I can.

The dishes done, conversations linger. But I just settle back on the sofa, not saying a word as Tris answers questions from the women about our household. Our plans. Which we don't have a lot of. But there is plenty of time for discussion. A lifetime, in fact.

The sun is setting late, today's summer day coming to a close. Marcus claps his hands to gain attention. I jump and shake my head in beratement for reacting to him. I shouldn't have to react to him anymore. He can't hurt me anymore. I'm leaving him.

"It is now time to move Tobias and Beatrice's belongings into their new house," he says, smiling. "Can I get some to help me bring down boxes?"

I sit up straighter, alarmed. I hope that he, or anyone else for that matter, doesn't shake any of my boxes. I had packed them carefully without him seeing. The last thing he needs to see is my blue glass art. My stray pieces of treasure that I have collected over the years. I've taken them out of the trunk under my bed, sure that the trunk is remaining here. I hope he doesn't find them. Or worse, break them while everyone watches.

But the trip to my new house goes well. The night is turning dark as we walk as one down the road, every part of me growing lighter as we go farther and farther away from Marcus's house.

At the door, I am handed the key by Marcus. My hand trembles as I take it and open the door, entering my new house for the first time.

It looks identical to the other houses of Abnegation, but I don't care. This one is a fresh start. A reset button. I won't have this house sullied as Marcus's is.

Tris and I stand back as the Abnegation do what they do best. Unpack the boxes that were brought over from the warehouses. Screw in light bulbs, set a plain tablecloth on the kitchen table. Make the one bed we will share. Then heads are bowed as they file out of the house.

Tris hugs her parents goodbye as Marcus holds out his arms for an embrace from me. I hesitate, but he says, "Just one, Tobias." I am forced to hug him as his mouth whispers in my ear, the words nearly lashes as they are harshly said, "You have to swear Beatrice to absolute secrecy. She will keep the secret. She will, or I swear, Tobias, you will wish she did."

I'm stunned as he bows his head with a smile and says, "Many good wishes, Tobias, Beatrice," then he walks out of my house as normally as can be.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, watching him leave. Then I feel a hand against my shoulder blade. I instantly jump.

"Tobias?" Tris asks.

I bite my lip before turning to her. Her face looks expectant, concerned, wondering.

"It's nothing," I lie before we head upstairs, not a word exchanged between us.

At the doorway to our bedroom, we see the made bed. It looks so harmless. But Tris breathes in deeply and exhales shakily.

"We don't have to be selfless in our own house," I say, turning to her. "Go take a hot shower. I . . . I have some thinking to do."

She nods and then says, "I have something to tell you, too." Then she takes up a towel and clothes and heads to the bathroom.

I see steam escaping through the bathroom door's cracks, and for her entire shower, I pace our room, still dressed in my wedding clothes, trying to think. Trying to breathe. Find the right words. But I've never told anyone this before. Half of me doesn't want her to know. The other half is begging to let her know so that I won't be choked with such a torturous secret. I press my cold fingernails against my scalp and dig as I pace the room, trying to think. But I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She comes out wrapped in the grey nightgown. Her dress is draped across her arm, and she stands timidly outside the door. But she heaves her shoulders and comes in and closes the door. Turning to me, making me stop, she says, startled, "Are you all right?"

"Tris," I say, dropping my hands as I stand before her, my fingers gently pressed against her arms. I take a deep breath. "Remember the secret I was going to tell you when we were married?"

She nods.

"You cannot tell anyone. Ever. Not your parents. Never our children. No one." My voice takes a pleading note. "You have to promise me, Tris. Please." One of my hands rises to brush stray wet blonde hair out of her face. Oh, she is beautiful.

"Tobias?" she says, worried.

"Please."

She bites her lip, nods. "What is it?"

For an answer, I take a deep breath and let her go. Turning around, I inhale sharply and unbutton my shirt, hurrying as fast as I can before I stumble and back out. I pull my shirt off and I can hear her breathe just as sharply as I had. Even though I never see my back, I know what it must look like. I've felt each welt driven into my skin. I've felt them with my fingers and wiped the blood off with a cloth before watching it flow down the sink drain. Now the scars must be hardened. His last episode was before our engagement. They mustn't look nearly as bad as they had when they were fresh and wet.

"Marcus's belt is a hefty weapon," I say after a moment of silence. I anger myself by flinching when her hand finds my skin, her fingers tracing the stripes. I barely breathe as her fingers trail down my back and back up to my shoulders, where they are not nearly as numerous.

"Marcus did this to you?" she says dully.

I turn to her and see her shocked face. I nod. Then I can't stand the look on her face. It hurts more than it should. Like she is shocked at how I could have held such a secret from her. Like she is feeling absolute betrayal as she thinks back to every moment she's ever seen Marcus be good, be kind, be selfless, and then attaches that man to the one who struck the marks on my back.

I turn away and her fingers are feather-light on my skin. Gentle touches are not something I am used to. I swallow and fill the silence with words. An explanation: "It grew from when I was young. I'd see him do it to my mother. He terrorized us both. By day, a respectable Abnegation member. By night, the thing of my nightmares. I half-expect that is the reason my mother died. Because of his hand. And with her gone, I was left to be his whipping boy."

"For how long has this happened?" Tris asks, her voice regaining a sense of evenness.

I shrug. "Years. As long as I can remember."

"Secrecy," she says, her hand falling from my shoulder.

I turn back to her, barely able to meet her eyes. "He knew that you would see them. He told me that anything can happen to you if anyone besides the three of us know." I then meet her eyes, and she shakes her head, "I'm going to go beat that bastard." Somehow, this makes me laugh. She is a statue for a moment before saying, "How could anyone beat their own flesh and blood?"

I shrug again. "It beats me."

"Why . . . why did he do it, though?" Tris asks, her voice still struck with horror.

"To keep me under control. If you haven't noticed, I'm not the most loyal of the Abnegation. His control over my life kept me in line. Kept me from ruining him. I was really something for him to lord over," I say.

"Now he can't touch you anymore," Tris whispers.

"His face will still haunt my nightmares. But all the physical beatings are gone. Nothing but scars left," I say.

All is quiet for a moment. I raise my hand and cup Tris's cheek. Feel relieved when she sinks into my palm. I like being able to touch someone gently.

"I'm sorry," she says, not knowing what else to say. Then her eyebrows raise slightly. "Why are you trembling?" My hand is shaking against her skin. I press my lips into a line. "Are you scared, Tobias?"

"Yes," I say.

"Of what?" she asks.

"My father," I whisper.

"No, no, no," she says, wrapping her hands around my neck, one over each other. She is so short she has to stand on her tiptoes, stretch her arms as much as she can. "You don't have to be scared of him anymore. What can he do to you? I'll help you with your nightmares." She looks so earnest I ache. She is so sure, so hopeful. But so many years of psychological torture is going to be hard to forget.

"You can try," I say, my hand rubbing her arm.

"We can do it," she says. "I won't let him beat you. And I won't let you give up on yourself so easily."

I smile a little. "Whatever you say, Tris."

"You can't let him beat you. Not all your life. You need to report him," Tris says. Her eyes are digging into mine. I hold them. "What is stopping you?"

"My fear," I say.

"We'll work through it together," she says. Suddenly her voice takes on a hard note. "I married you. Not because I had to. But because I love you. I won't let my husband be defeated."

I don't say anything. It is too late for a discussion. I don't want this to grow into an argument. That would be the worst way to spend our wedding night.

"I heard you had a secret to tell me," I say.

She breathes heavily. "Yes." Staring straight back at me, she opens her mouth and closes it a few times. I wait patiently until she says, "My aptitude test results were inconclusive. I . . . have an aptitude for Abnegation, Dauntless, and Erudite."

Divergent. This seals my thoughts. She reminds me of when I got home from the aptitude test with two results and lied to Marcus about having two. There's the shame you feel, the anxiety. The feeling of never being able to fit in because you just can't.

"Tris," I say. "I'm Divergent, too."

Her head snaps up. "You are."

"Must be how we understand each other so well," I say.

She sighs deeply and hangs her head in the space between us. I can feel the relief roll off her shoulders. I can't be one to judge her when I am just like her. But then I feel her shaking. That's not relief. "Tris? What are you scared of?" I ask, tilting her head up.

Her eyes flicker over to the bed, then to our touching hands. Skin against skin.

"We don't have to—" I say.

"That's the thing. We do have to," she says. "Consummation of marriage." These last words I am barely able to hear.

"Not tonight," I say. As if I want to put her through something she doesn't want to do. She won't. Not like I was forced to endure.

"Let's just go to bed," she says.

The lights are turned off and I pull the sheets out from underneath the pillows. She closes the door and slips in next to me. We face each other in the mere darkness, as the moon shines through the window curtains. She's all pale and yellow against all the grey around here. Too bright for the cage surrounding her.

A few minutes pass. She fiddles with her fingers and then says, "Tobias?"

"Yes?" I whisper.

"Can you hold me?" she asks.

I pull back the blankets and wrap my hands around her small waist. She wraps her hands around my neck and breathes deeply.

"You okay, Tris?" I ask.

She nods her head, barely.

I lean over and kiss her cheek. "Good night."

Then she comes closer to me and kisses my lips. Immediately my grip around her waist tightens, then stills. Her mouth is hot on mine. I can't move, but I don't care.

When she pulls back, I sigh deeply and lean forward and kiss her jaw very carefully. This makes her sit up, making me follow her. She stares at her fingers for a moment before they find my chest and trace down.

"You're not having a change of heart, are you?" I ask, keeping my tone serious as I feel her fingers burn a good burn against my skin. I feel something inside my chest ache. Something that makes me want to kiss her, hard, on the lips.

"Maybe I am," she says. Then she says, "Kiss me, Tobias."

I gladly divulge her.

* * *

><p>The next morning we're a tangled mess of grey sheets and calm breathing. Of skin and warm sunbeams passing through the curtains and falling on us. For one single moment, we are at peace. Finding comfort from the other, we went through the night facing the fear of touching and intimacy. Calming whispers kept each other from panicking. The result is steady heartbeats pressed against each other and a peaceful silence between us.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>* Tris's point of view *<strong>

*** Several months later ***

I can't help myself when I look towards the Erudite section. Some part of me has a loyalty it has to give in to. He's lost for a moment in so much blue, like the sky, but then he catches my eye. Just like when he had met me by the factionless sector almost a year ago, his jaw hangs. I can tell he is assessing my body and processing an answer. But anyone, not just the Erudite, can see my swollen belly and put two and two together. I stare back at him, my small hand resting over my enlarged abdomen, and then turn away. Train my eyes to the front.

It is Amity's turn to host the Choosing Ceremony this year. Their main communicator, Johanna Reyes, reads aloud from her cards the usual speech. The faction manifestos. Then comes the list of those who are picking today. I wonder what my child will choose as I watch blood spill onto burning coals, into water, or onto my grey stones.

When the ending is called, I take far more time to get up than everyone else as Abnegation start to put away chairs. My back has been taking a brutal amount of pressure from the very beginning. Tobias, knowing this, slides a hand against my back and pulls me up with his other.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his hand around mine, protecting it.

"It's the selfless thing to do," I say.

He whispers near my ear, "I thought you gave up thinking that years ago."

"I try," I whisper back. Then I notice the tension in his face. "Are you going now?"

"Yes," he says.

"Win," I say, clutching his arm as I stumble around the chairs to the Abnegation initiates. I brush myself off and join Susan and others ready to help with the initiation process. "Welcome to Abnegation."

* * *

><p>I can hear the voices from the street. Abnegation rarely yell. But someone is screaming in rage as I walk up the meeting house's steps. Open the door. Step in to see the foyer filled with chaos.<p>

The staff behind the counter stand, stricken, as a door opens and two Dauntless guards come out. On their sides are guns. Their hands are grasping the arms of the thrashing Marcus. I take a step back against the wall, my face grim as I hear the words coming out of his mouth. "He's lying! He's wrong! Please! I—"

My father stands in front of the meeting room's doorway. Behind him are grim-faced council members and Jack Kang, the representative of Candor. Next to him, I see Tobias. "The only liar I see is you, Marcus. Who can betray the effects of Candor truth serum? Or are those marks on his back self-inflicted? I am sorry, Marcus." My father's voice sounds so full of sorrow. His best friend, a man behind a mask, has been found out.

Marcus's eyes dig into mine as he is dragged out. Words fall from his mouth, but I don't understand them. I stare back at him, my eyes hard.

The Abnegation are those who forgive. Those who accept you when you have failed. But Marcus's crimes are too numerous. And even our forgiveness can only reach so far before we decide that justice must be served, repentance taken as payment for his deeds.

My father and the rest of the members go back into the meeting room with Jack Kang, not even going to see their brother get taken to Dauntless to be held in a cell. My father touches Tobias's shoulder, says something sympathetic, and sends Tobias on his way toward me.

My hands reach past the extension of my belly and hug his shoulders. "Was that painful?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. I draw back and his eyes flicker down to our unborn child. He rubs above my navel and says, "It was not the selfless thing to do, but it was the right thing to do." He meets my eyes. "I won't have him looming around in the shadows when our baby is born, Tris. I won't let him harm you or harm our child."

It's a guilt feeling. He doesn't feel like our child will be protected when Marcus is roams free. I understand that. That need to protect. So I clutch his hand and say, "Thank you."

"No. Thank you," he says. "I couldn't have gone in front of all of them unless you made me. Tris, you're the only one who hasn't ever made me feel bad for being who I am. Thank you for pushing me, and accepting me." His smile is a soft one. He only appears soft around me.

"Thank you for accepting me," I say back, "for the miscreant I am."

"Don't worry. We both are miscreants," he says, squeezing my hand. "And that's not a bad thing."

He's right. It's not a bad thing that we don't follow every rule like perfect Abnegation citizens. We don't fit into a perfect box. Divergence takes that away from us. But only with each other have we found we can live with it, and even enjoy it. Only together have we found peace.

**While Allegiant was gloriously beautiful and tragic, I am okay with the ending. I thought it was well-written in the end and that made sense. It was true to Tris's character. I applaud the author for that.**

**On the other hand, one of the reasons I was looking forward to Allegiant was that we would get to the end of the series and things could settle down and I could write cute Tobias/Tris!Married fanfic. BUT LIKE THAT IS GONNA HAPPEN BECAUSE OF ALLEGIANT'S ENDING. So this may be a way of my coping. I respect the series' ending, but I also wanted to write this not only because TRIS DIES WITHOUT BEING WITH TOBIAS FIVE-EVER, but also because I've seen so many fanfics in this fandom that have taken many of the cliché what ifs? and put their spin on them. While you can write what you like, I've felt disappointed, and so I've decided to write it my way so I'm pleased. Feel free to like this or not.**

**With Marcus and Natalie and Andrew being so involved in getting Tobias and Tris engaged, I know that Marcus wants to be able to control every aspect he can of Tobias's life. Hence his involvement. Then with Natalie and Andrew, I figure that the Abnegation would be a lot more formal about it. Not, "Mom, Dad, I like this guy and we're dating." "Okay, honey." They'd make it a bigger deal.**

**Some of the references to Tobias's childhood are from the story The Transfer, much recommend, so sad, many like, wow. And a reason I made Tobias and Tris not so . . . snarky, not spitfires as they are in the Divergent series, is because they've spent their time in Abnegation, not Dauntless. One of the things that count for the cause of your tendencies and traits are environmental factors, and so them not being in such a rough environment keeps them a bit meeker, a little more timid. Just like the Abnegation.**

**In the end, I hope you find that I was able to bring justice to some of my absolute favorite characters I have ever read about. And, after all that, I'd just like to thank you for reading that entire chunka of story. You probably shouldn't expect a sequel, though. XD. God bless.**


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